Past's Player
by The Fictionist
Summary: Getting stuck in 1942 was bad. Getting put into Slytherin was even worse. Having Tom Riddle practically stalk him? Harry hated his life. Prequel to Fate's Favourite
1. Prologue

Prologue:

Harry had never felt so angry, pointing his wand furiously at Dudley, having to struggle to refrain from more than mere threat.

No news, no nothing! He was infuriated, tired, bewildered and hurt.

Had it not been he who had fought Voldemort? Seen Cedric _die_? And all Dumbledore and - even worse! - Ron and Hermione could offer him were meaningless scraps of nothing disguised as comfort.

He ground his teeth, knowing he shouldn't be, but revelling in the fear in his cousin's eyes. It vented some of his own frustrations.

"_Point it somewhere else!_" Dudley gasped, white faced and sweating.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"GET THAT THING AWAY FROM-"

All of a sudden, Dudley gave an odd, shuddering noise, as if doused by icy water.

For a split second, Harry thought he'd done magic without meaning too, then reality hit unwelcomingly. His eyes widened with horror.

The stars had gone out, every light in the area - gone. A horrifically familiar cold crept across him, snaking its tendrils into every bone in his body.

He didn't have the power to put out the stars.

He struggled to see, while Dudley whimpered into his ear, pleading with him. He answered distractedly, searching out the threat.

This was impossible…and yet, he would recognise this sensation anywhere, it haunted him.

_Dementors. _

He heard them before he saw them, the rattle of their breath, like death itself.

He continued bickering, increasingly annoyed, with the fat whale, only snapping out of it when a fist smashed into the side of his head with a colossal wham. He was lifted off his feet, white lights popping in his eyes.

"You moron, Dudley!" he yelled, eyes watering with pain as he scrambled to his knees, feeling frantically for his wand. He head Dudley, the stupid oaf, blundering away. "DUDLEY COME BACK! YOU'RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!" He roared.

There was a horrible squealing yell, and Dudley's footsteps stopped. He screamed for his cousin to keep his mouth shut, wishing he didn't have to part his lips for the warning, but feeling that sense of obligation that he must. He scrabbled desperately for his wand once more. "Where's - wand - come on - _lumos!" _

He cast the spell automatically, desperate for light, find it nothing short of a miracle when his wand tip ignited. He snatched it, darting to his feet, only to turn around anf freeze.

The dementor was right behind him, and, the next second, it's rotting hand was on his throat.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

All that came was a whisp of silver, as his mind was consumed by memories.

Memories of beatings, and graveyards and dark haired boys…what?

And then, as its lips touched his, he fell into darkness.

* * *

The darkness receded a moment later, and Harry thought, if this was losing a soul, that it wasn't so bad.

There were blurs of colour around him and then - and then he hit the ground with a sickening thud, completely disorientated. Ow.

Shrieks around him, worried exclamations…magic…he could feel tinglings of magic. He opened his eyes, squinting around him, everything aching.

He felt exhausted all of a sudden.

There was nothing but panic, panic that stirred his guts to a frenzy of fear.

What had happened? Where was he? H-Hogwarts? Had he somehow apparated to Hogwarts? But no, there was a full potion's class going on…what?

"Someone go and get the Headmaster and the nurse."

One voice cut through the haze of terror, a clear, authoritive voice that he recognised from somewhere. He turned his head, noting that another figure was very close…really close? Had he landed on someone?

The table was certainly broken…he was lucky he hadn't landed in the cauldron!

He should say sorry. He turned…froze.

No.

This was some sick joke. It had to be. It just had to be.

The figure turned around to face him too, with icy, intelligent violet eyes that seemed sear right through to his soul.

"_Tom Riddle_?" he demanded, furiously.

He saw the other's attention snap to him fully, more intense than anything he'd ever felt before, a hand closing on his chin harshly, and…

He sank into blackness again.

* * *

Tom Riddle was bored.

It was about a week into his fifth year, and though he was delighted to be back at Hogwarts and magic, he was _bored._T

he syllabus was laughably easy for him, and he was certain he'd mastered most of the curriculum in his third year. Oh well, it was better than being amongst the filthy muggles and their bombs and their war. He closed his eyes slightly, resisting the urge to shudder.

Of course, the Wizarding World had it's own war with the threat of Grindewald, but a war of wands and power was so much grander and exquisite than the fire and explosions and ugliness on the streets of London.

He could feel Lestrange, the pathetic cretin, trying to catch his eye, but he ignored it. They all catered to him, so under his thumb nowadays that it wasn't even a challenge to keep his empire running smoothly.

Still, they were amusing enough to play with from time to time, to see how much he could take from them and twist them before they caught on. And then, when they did, to see if he could take them even further, making them believe they were everything…before discarding for the trash they were.

Oh it was delicious to watch them scramble and bicker for his attentions after that, doing increasingly desperate things just for a snatch of his gaze, a kind word from his lips.

He added the hellebore to his potion, stirring it, ignoring the admiring gaze of Slughorn alternating between himself and Prince.

Another 'O', of course. He never got anything else, he didn't allow himself to. Nothing could go wrong-

There was a sickening crash, a body out of nowhere, falling seemingly out of thin air, landing hard on his little table, pretty much on his lap actually had he not shot out of the way.

He had a moment of disorientation, confusion, everything in splinters before him.

Then there was chaos.

People screaming, being down right absurd and pitiful.

It was just a _boy. _

Admittedly, it was a very strange boy who fell out the ceiling, but they didn't need to squeal so irritably.

Black hair, straighter than his, but with the same shade, tanned skin, a small figure…_terrible _clothes, glasses, and, what a curious scar? It was like a lightning bolt. He was mildly interested.

It was something new, either way, that he hadn't played with before. A moan of pain slipped past the strange boy's lips, and then his eyes opened, squinting around the room.

They were stunning eyes. Emerald, killing curse green. He would have looked relatively ordinary otherwise. He was handsome enough, too, not that he cared about some things, but some of the females had started whispering with an obnoxious excitement.

Oh for crying aloud, were they all going to simply stare like idiots? Of course, it was foolish of him to think they would rise above their joint stupidity and grow a brain.

"Someone go and get the Headmaster and the nurse," he ordered, concisely, suppressing a sigh, pushing some concern into his tone for good measure.

He sounded the model student. Perfect.

Those eyes turned to him instantly, probably drawn to the only non-shriek in the room. They locked gazes, and, those eyes widened.

Green eyes. Alive eyes. Confused eyes. _Defiant eyes._

"_Tom Riddle?" _the boy demanded, incredulously, almost fearfully, certainly hatefully.

His own eyes widened in response, before he could catch himself.

Did this boy know him? He didn't know the other - did he?  
His mind buzzed through millions of questions and an utterly unsatisfied amount of answers.

He lunged forwards instictually, grasping the other boy's jaw, his fingers sliding over smooth skin, tightening when the boy automatically tried to jerk away from him.

And then, the pain clouded over them entirely, dulling the vividness…passed out.  
He felt a momentary flash of disappointment, before gathering himself, offering to take the unexpected arrival to the Hospital Wing, where Dippet would no doubt meet them.

He hid a smirk.

It seemed things just got interesting.

* * *

A/N: So, terrible, generic prologue, but we must start somewhere mustn't we with time travel cliches?

As you might have guessed, I have started the PP rewrite early. :) Yay. I hope you enjoy this as much as you liked Fate's Favourite.

I'd love to hear your comments.

PS: What should I call this? 1) Past's Player 2) Luck's Lover 3) History's Hero  
I can't decide and am, thus, switching randomly every so often at the moment...


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One:

Harry couldn't believe it. He honestly couldn't believe it.

Exactly how _bad _was his luck? He wasn't stupid, he'd realised something was wrong the second he saw Tom Riddle, and only had that confirmed when Armando Dipper and a _ginger _Dumbledore had interrogated him over where he had come from, who he was, and whether or not he was a spy for the Dark Lord Grindewald.

Seeing Dumbledore's familiar blue eyes, he almost succumbed to the urge to tell him everything.

Then the resentment rose. Sure, _this _Dumbledore hadn't left him without a scrap of news all summer, but he _would! _In the end, he'd told them he was a time traveller (with some careful confirmation under this truth potion, called Verita-something, Veritaserum?) and then refused to reveal any more.

Dippet, though disappointed, had agreed with his future successor on the importance of not meddling with time, and so, hadn't pressed.

He was now Harrison Evans, previously home schooled student - claims about being from another wizarding school would fall through too quickly, he had no contacts and knew nothing about them - and had been orphaned by the war, to be sent to Hogwarts.

There were enough massacres around, apparently, that it wasn't an absurd thing to believe. The fact he landed in the middle of Potions Class out of thin air was explained by a portkey gone awry.

That led him to his current predicament: Sorting.

"-Salazar would burn me if I let you escape his house for a second time," the Hat protested, giving something that on a more alive object he would have called a shudder. It felt weird on his head.

"Salazar's long dead!" he snapped mentally. "Come on, you put me in Gryffindor before! Please, just put me there again."

"Slytherin would suit you well," it insisted.

"Tom Riddle is in Slytherin! I swear, I'll have his head off by the end of the month if I have to deal with him. He's an evil-"

"-Well, maybe you're here to change that," the hat muttered.

"What?" he demanded, incredulously. "Look, please just-"

"SLYTHERIN!"

The hat was swept off his head by an amiable Dippet before he could comment any further. His heart sank.

No. No. No. This was just getting worse! He was a snake! A filthy, rotten Slytherin - he couldn't believe it. Sure, the hat hadn't wanted him to be in Slytherin the first time round, but surely it had seen how perfect he was for Gryffindor? Did it not care for his opinion at all? He felt sick.

This was a nightmare.

He'd been in the Hospital Wing for a few days, while they interrogated him and fixed up his new identity, all under the lie that landing in a potion had caused some medical complications.

"Well, that's settled then," the Headmaster said cheerily. Too cheerily. "I shall have someone send for Tom…" Dippet turned to him, smiling kindly. "Tom Riddle," he said, in explanation. "He's a prefect, bright boy, and a Slytherin like yourself."

Like himself…ha! He'd never be like Tom Riddle, and he'd never be a true Slytherin either. Never.

"He'll be your guide for the first two weeks or so, help you learn your way around."

Harry gaped, almost spluttering.

"I-_what?" _This wasn't even funny anymore."That's okay!" he nearly yelped. "I know my way around here already-"

"Who knows how much could have changed?" Dippet dismissed, seemingly bored of him now, and his words. "Yes, just wait here lad, Mr Riddle will be here in a moment. He'll help you out."

He almost looked at Dumbledore for help, but the old…er, the man had already discarded him as a problem solved. Typical. No, he was not bitter.

Panic tore through him, rage and hatred. He was in _no way _ready to come face to face with the young Dark Lord. His fists clenched at the thought.

All too soon, a figure entered the hospital wing.

Harry found himself studying the other openly, despite himself. He looked almost exactly like he had in the chamber; tall, handsome and dark haired. Except, now, he seemed even more intense in real life. His posture practically radiated power and superiority.

Harry hated him on sight.

"You must be our transfer student," Riddle greeted, with a charming smile, holding out a hand. "Tom Riddle."

"Harrison Evans," he replied, as neutrally as he could. They shook. He refused to think of the irony of 'shaking hands with devil.' Then they left the wing.

Harry could feel his muscles knotting with tenseness, as if the whole world was swinging. This was so _bizarre._

"Look," he began, a few corridors away, trying for a friendly shrug. "You don't really have to give me a tour, I'll find my own way round soon enough - the first years do, right?"

He expected Riddle to jump on the chance. He was proved wrong.

"It's no problem, Harrison," the other shot him a smile, teasing and somehow dangerous though he couldn't think why. "Gives me time to interrogate our new snake."

He forced an easy laugh, with a hint of self-deprecation.

"I'm nobody interesting. It would be a waste of your time."

"Funny," Riddle murmured silkily. "Only the interesting ones say that."

Harry silently fumed, keeping his expression fixed. Bastard.

"Oh?" he questioned tightly.

"Those who have nothing to hide, like to pretend that they do," Riddle replied carelessly. "Those that have secrets," violet eyes pierced like daggers into the side of his face. "Hide."

"And you think I have something to hide?" Harry returned, trying to act nonchalant, as if this was somewhat amusing, turning away. Riddle laughed, a melodious laugh that sounded too perfect to be real.

It probably wasn't; everything about this teenager was lie crafted to catch his prey.

"I don't know," Riddle replied. "But I love a good mystery - this is the grand Staircase. It'll go to everywhere in the castle that you need to go outside of the dungeons. So, how is it that you came to be at Hogwarts?"

Harry tried to make it convincing, lowering his head, with the added advantage that it hid his expression better.

"My…the war…" those violet eyes burned into his skin. "Well, it's gone. My home is gone…I…I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind?"

"Of course not," the Slytherin Heir said smoothly, reaching out, squeezing his shoulder.

Harry flinched before he could stop himself, at the unexpectednss of it, reality sinking in, earning a slight head tilt. Posture: compassionate. Eyes: hard as diamonds.

The hand dropped, trailing down his arm, almost as if reluctant, but those eyes, those _eyes, _filled with challenge. He felt utterly unnerved, but could hardly call the other up on it, because the other wasn't technically doing anything wrong.

Maybe another person would fall easily to the charisma, the pretended sympathy, but he knew the truth. Tom Riddle was pure evil.

The damned tour continued.

* * *

Tom had always found giving tours to be boring and pointless, but this time, it wasn't the castle he was truly inspecting.

The boy was…he wasn't quite sure what to make of him.

On one hand, he seemed utterly average, mediocre, not particularly intelligent, with a witty streak, but on the whole…nothing special.

On the other…the boy had _known _him, and though his verbal sparring was clumsy, there was potential there. Then there was the posture. Harrison seemed to practically lean away from him, muscles taut, posture in a constant fight and flight motion. From him.

Intriguing. Enigmatic. _Defiant. _

And the way he'd flinched upon touch, where most people sickeningly sunk towards any physical comfort…abuse? He had no interest in this kind of human contact, he found it distasteful, but that flinching was delightful.

He needed to learn more.

Of course, it would probably come to nothing, but it would be fun to crush such a clearly independent (he'd rather rely on himself than take a tour) spirit into something compliant and docile.

The wild ones were always the most delicious to tame.

Finally, they ended up at the Slytherin Common Room, and that, he noted, was the first time that the other showed any hesitation in his movements around Hogwarts. Strange.

His followers looked up immediately upon his arrival, trying to read his mood…before their eyes slid to Evans, next to him.

He glanced at the boy, observing the rigid set to his features, the poorly concealed fire in his gaze. Interesting.

"Everyone," he announced. "This is Harrison Evans."

"Harrison-" he glanced at the other, noting how he almost didn't seem…familiar with the name. "_Harry," _he tried, and that killing curse gaze shot to him with something like shock and alarm. Jackpot. "This is Cygnus Lestrange."

He watched as the two sized each other up, and then Lestrange was gripping the boy's fingers so hard in dominance display that he was marginally surprised Harry didn't show any indication of pain.

He seemed so bad at hiding his emotions (unless the emotions he revealed were fake? But no, he'd know, he mastered masks for a living) but he seemed good at hiding pain. Fascinating.

Yet, the boy's grip was limp, submissive, docile. Like two people in one body.

"Abraxas Malfoy," he indicated to the blonde, but kept his attention on the new boy. A flash of…not quite recognition, gone in under a second.

"Pleasure."

"It's all mine," Evans replied curtly.

"Zevi Prince."

Surprise. Disconcertion.

"Nice to meet you, Harrison, was it?"

The boy smiled back, a bit restrainedly. He could feel them all assessing each other.

"And Alphard Black."

Something else entirely. He didn't recognise the emotion well, this, at least, was hidden. He'd fish for opinions later.

They made small talk for a while, and he could almost visibly feel the other bubbling.

Harrison sat perched on a chair, all the other Slytherins circling him like vultures, making their opinions.

New kid wasn't making a very good impression. He didn't know if it was on purpose or not. He hated not knowing.

Evan's eyes flicked around the room, pausing on him, as if not certain what he was there, frosted and angry. They locked gazes.

_Do you want to play, new boy?_

* * *

Harry lay awake that night, mind in a whir and panic.

It was sinking in, horribly. He couldn't believe this, it was awful. It took everything he had not to murder the people in the room, most specifically, Tom freaking Riddle.

He dared not fall asleep, not trusting anyone in this room enough, but hoping so much that if he shut his eyes he would wake up back in his own time. In the alley with the Dementors, even, anywhere but here.

He would keep a low profile when he was here, research a way to get back home and fight the war…if he had his way, no one would even remember him.

He stared up at the stone ceiling, the dark emerald hangings lurking around him. He wanted Gryffindor. He wanted to be in Gryffindor with the nice, brave, people who weren't going to grow up to be mass murderers. He shuddered.

The scariest thing had been the attention the other had paid him, the intense scrutiny that saw far too much for his liking.

He needed to find a way to get rid of it, avert himself to something boring and dull and background. Riddle had mentioned that only those with nothing to hide flaunted themselves, so, maybe…if he acting like he wanted to impress Riddle, he would leave him alone, bored?

Yet, he wasn't sure if he could stomach that. Acting sycophantic. He had to try though, didn't he? Maybe he could compromise…he didn't know. He didn't know.

His eyes drooped. He tried to keep them open.

He dared not sleep…he dared not…

Sleep.

He woke up screaming.

* * *

Tom's eyes snapped open, screams filling the room, his hand instantly fell upon his wand.

"Salazar's-" Alphard began, cursing, his hair a mess, rubbing his eyes entirely.

"What is it?" Abraxas sniped, absolutely irritated to lose his beauty sleep. His head turned slowly to Evan's bed. Nightmares. Harrison had nightmares. Curioser and curioser.

"Can't we just gag him to shut him up!" Cygnus hissed, glaring in the same direction as he was.

He smirked slightly at the suggestion, wondering how this Evans would react to waking up gagged and restrained on his bed.

Panic, most likely. So predictable. Dull.

He rolled his eyes, cutting his hand across for a sign of silence. They were giving him a headache. Idiots.

He strode over to Harrison's bed, drawing his wand, flicking it sharply. Ice cold water burst out the tip, waking the other up instantly, and, in the same second, the other had a wand in his hand, sitting up, ready to fight.

He lunged on instinct, trapping the other's wrists down on the mattress as the weapon began to direct on him, mouth opening for a spell.

Hazy vision, not in the real world yet.

"Get off me you-"

Clarity. Lucidity. Tiredness. Haunted.

Wrists turned slack, though the rest of the tension didn't leave.

Green stared straight into him, unyielding, _vulnerable_.

"Tom."

Tom, not Riddle.

A second later, the boy flinched back, a façade

(?) hardening over his form like dried paint as he looked around the room, embarrassment clouding his features, anywhere but at him. Dismissal. He'd never been dismissed before, no one dared, even when he was the mudblood of Slytherin.

Now, he was the Slytherin Lord, and people certainly didn't.

This _stranger _did it carelessly.

"Erm, sorry," Harry rubbed his head sheepishly. "I-god this is embarrassing, um. I'll put up silencing charms next time, I-"

They all stared back at the two of them; Cygnus' eyes narrowed to slits, Abraxas intent and shrewd, Zevi's head tilted back to survey them both with what looked dangerously like curiosity. Alphard looked disgruntled, half asleep.

In the end, everyone abruptly turned away, muttering darkly, complaining about whether this was what was to come. Harry backed away from him, still not looking, shivering from the cold water.

"Excuse me," he muttered, disappearing for the bathroom.

Tom walked back to his own bed, ignoring Lestrange's puzzled, jealous eyes.,

He glanced at the door.

_This could be fun. _


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter 2:

Harry woke up that morning, silently wishing, once again, that it had all been a dream.

It wasn't.

He could hear the Slytherins getting ready and dressed around him. He lay still for a moment, holding his eyes shut, wishing he could keep them like that forever and avoid facing his new world.

He'd barely got a drop of sleep since waking up the night before. Still, he felt even more uncomfortable lying on his bed with his eyes closed - too vulnerable - and reluctantly swung his legs out from under the duvet hoping his silent glare was enough to keep the vultures at bay for the morning at least.

Abraxas Malfoy shot him a look, partly disdainful and partly considering.

"Is your hair always like that? You look like you've been electrocuted."

"Is your hair always like that?" he fired back snappishly, "or do you simply spend more time grooming yourself than a peacock?"

They stared at him. He mentally cursed. That was a great start to his don't attract attention plan, wasn't it? It was just so infuriating being stuck here.

"I take it you're not a morning person, Evans," Prince stated dryly.

Harry had quickly decided that Zevi Prince must be related to Snape somehow; he looked the same in body structure minus the hooked nose, and his black hair wasn't greasy. Harry could see potions stains on his long fingers though, and they had the same manner of carriage and speech, same voice.

He'd met them all last night, and he wasn't sure if they were what he'd expected or not. It was clear they all deferred to Riddle, anyway, the prat.

"Don't blame 'im," Alphard Black grumbled, stifling a yawn. "Who would be?" It hurt how much Alphard looked like Sirius, taunting him.

"Tom," Lestrange replied immediately.

Harry wanted to punch something at the name, and turned away, trying to keep his interactions at a minimum. They didn't seem to care.

"He keeps odd hours, does Tom, and I keep him company sometimes," Cygnus continued, as if he should be interested.

"So do we all," Malfoy said somewhat irritably, before shaking his head. "I don't know, Tom likes his own company well enough."

Again, why did they think he _cared? _

"Right," he mumbled, pushing his way past, down into the Common Room to escape them.

The room was milling with a lemming parade of Slytherins all heading towards the Great Hall for breakfast, all smartly dressed in their uniforms, wands tucked in holsters. Harry immediately, casually, loosened his tie some more, unable to help himself - all the better to lose their interest.

They wouldn't care to associate with a slob, he hoped. Some faces he marginally recognised from the future, others, not so much.

Next morning, he vowed to just go to breakfast early, as opposed to waiting around, feigning sleep like he would have done with Ron and Hermione. His heart ached at the names.

He missed them so much. Would they be appalled by his new snake status? Ron would be, no doubt. Hermione…Hermione would no how to deal with all of this so much better than he did.

In the centre of it all, like a King on his throne, lounged Riddle.

He was reading some massive, dark looking book…was it even in English? He tilted his head, trying to read the cover, only for those violet eyes to flick up. He abruptly turned his gaze away as he crossed the Common Room, hoping he'd be able to find his way out the dungeons.

The next second, the Slytherin Heir fell in step with him.

"Harry," Riddle greeted.

It was maddening that the other called him this already - everyone else was still calling him 'Harrison' or 'Evans.' He had to keep trying to remember that it was him they were talking to. Unable to resist, Harry squinted slightly as if trying to remember something.

"Yeah…Tom, wasn't it? Tom Riddle?"

If the prefect was annoyed, he didn't show it, merely looking scarily amused.

"Gold star, new boy," he returned with a smirk. Harry gritted his teeth, angry with the knowledge that if he didn't know exactly who and what this monster parading as a teenager was, he'd be as taken in as everyone else.

"Are you not going to wait for your friends?" he asked, instead, trying to make his voice sound anxious and confused as Riddle kept with him into the corridor. As if the bastard even had friends, he probably only had stupid sycophantic followers!

Either way, it was time to get started on becoming nothing…or, at least, finding some place to train. If he was going to be stuck here, he might as well be productive in studying and practising magic so he could help more with the war when he got back.

Dumbledore would have no reason to keep him in the dark then, would he?

"And abandon a fellow snake in need? We can't have you getting lost on your first day, can we?" Riddle replied, not missing a beat.

He was smiling, but once more those eyes were intent on his face. Harry forced another laugh, shrugging.

"I'm touched, but there's no need, I reckon I can find the hall. I wouldn't wish to keep you," he tried.

"Nonsense," the other dismissed. "Trust me, Harry, _nothing _keeps me from getting or doing what I want."

Was it just him, or did that sound really ominous? How did Riddle even manage to pull off his model student act? He was clearly a Dark Lord rising.

"I prefer Harrison," he said, abruptly. Riddle's head tilted.

"Funny, because it seems you don't recognise it as your own name at times."

Harry almost flinched at that…exactly how brilliant was Riddle when people claimed he was brilliant? Like, Hermione brilliant or Dumbledore brilliant? How on earth had the other picked up on that! He frowned, glancing at Riddle quizzically, as if dismissing the words as absurd.

"That would be ridiculous."

"Indeed," Tom murmured. They continued in silence for a moment. For some reason, all the other Slytherins kept looking at them both. It was seriously getting annoying.

He could feel Riddle studying him too, which was even worse. He struggled to keep his posture nonchalant, however much he wanted to tense around the other, not trusting him.

Finally, they reached the Great Hall. He almost walked over to the Gryffindor table, only just catching himself. Harry began searching for an empty seat, ignoring the necks craning around the room in his direction. Before Riddle could say anything, or somehow trap him into sitting with him, Harry dropped into a far out, empty place, close to the door.

Perhaps even more infuriatingly, the Slytherin Heir simply breezed past him, taking a seat at the centre of the table, of which people seemed to try and get as close to as possible.

He felt momentarily disconcerted by the jarring switch of attention, before cursing himself, catching himself.

No.

He was not going to start craving Riddle's focus and favour. Absolutely not. He determinedly poured himself a cup of coffee.

At least it meant that it was working, and the other was losing interest…right?

* * *

Tom Riddle absently completed the freezi

ng charm (pathetically basic) that they were supposed to be practising in charms, his thoughts otherwise occupied. Evans sat on the other side of the room, seeming to doggedly try and avoid the company of himself and his circle…or any Slytherin, for that matter.

It was strange, but only consolidated his view that the boy _somehow _knew him or had formed an opinion of hate or resentment towards him already. After all, when they first met, the boy had called him by name, eyes filled with unguarded emotions and shock.

Moreover, it was practically comical how much Evans tensed up around him. It would be glorious to play with. He'd made sure to brush against the other on their walk to the Great Hall, only to be greeted by more repressed flinches. Stunning.

The boy was odd in other ways too…he almost seemed to possess a split personality.

When he thought people were paying attention to him, his posture immediately shifted to something meek, relatively submissive and perfectly insipid. When they weren't, his posture seemed to subconsciously change, as if he'd forgotten himself, and his back straightened with confidence.

He also came out with rather quick, and - dare he say it? - _witty _comments when he was caught off guard, from all that his followers had told him. It was only when he was confronted directly, or involved already in a conversation, that he suddenly began to appear alarmingly stupid.

His wand work was appalling too, he'd yet to see Evans cast a spell correctly, fumbling on the words. Yet…he was powerful. Tom could literally sense the power on him, as hidden as it was. Someone that powerful, couldn't possible be that incompetent - they would fluke on some of the spells due to raw magic, effort and will.

Harrison failed too much for it to possibly be natural.

And yet…he knew every other Slytherin in their house was already growing dismissive of him, and he'd barely been there a day.

Curioser and curiouser.

He appeared next to the boy as the bell rang, ignoring Lestrange's disbelieving look, Prince's speculative one, and the entertained looks of Malfoy and Black as they figured he was playing with Evans, as he'd played with so many before.

Harrison turned, stilling to find him so close, green darkening, before he smiled in a friendly manner.

"Hey Riddle," he acknowledged, struggling with his books. "Tough class, huh…though, I've heard you're a genius, and should have no trouble?" the boy gave a bashful grin - nothing like the wild, feisty character he'd first encountered…but which one was real?

"I noticed you were having some trouble, anything I can do to help?" he offered.

"Oh that's okay," Evans said, cheerfully, though his jaw tightened. "I'm sure I'll get the hang of it eventually."

Independent. Incompetent wizards just weren't this independent, they simply weren't. They sought help because they couldn't cope on their own. Incompetent wizards didn't have nightmares like Evans did, as, to have been in a situation to cause them to such a severe level, they'd already have been long dead due to that incompetence.

He jerked his head subtly for his Slytherins to go ahead, and they did so without question. Harrison seemed to notice that they were alone again, and tensed even more, pace quickening.

"I get the feeling you don't like me very much," he said, watching the new boy carefully. "I must confess myself at a loss as to why that would be, have I done something to offend you?"

Rage. Pure raged and hatred flashed across the other's face, before being clumsily concealed. Harry was very bad at hiding his emotions, for a Slytherin.

He'd almost say the other was coming across as a lion, except for the slyness with which he was obviously playing, surprisingly to moderate success, two personas.

"Of course not, we only just met," Evans stated.

"And yet you knew my name, within seconds of seeing my face."

The boy completely froze, as if definitely not expecting that.

"What?"

"You knew my name, when you landed on my potion," he said. Harry shook his head.

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. I remember rather vividly.

""I know you may think the world revolves around you, Riddle," the boy practically _hissed_, "but you're sorely mistaken on this account."

There was that sharp tongue again, so at war with the docility he tended to show to everyone else. It was almost as if the boy was trying to act submissive, but was riled up by the act of it.

It was hard for someone naturally dominant to act submissive, he knew, and it made breaking and taming that person even more fun.

He took a step forward, meticulously watching Evan's increasingly flustered reaction as he closed in. Green eyes widened, and the other took a hasty step back, then another, inadvertently trapping himself against a wall.

He raised his arms to rest of either side of the boy's shoulders, caging him in, watching as every muscle in Harrison's body locked with tension, seeming to draw back, though he held his ground stubbornly now. Another paradox.

"Is that so?" he questioned silkily.

"Uh…"

"Because I have a very good memory, and I distinctly remember that you knew my name." He moved his mouth to the other's ear, delighting in the shudder Evan's gave, the way he was frantically fluxuating between personas, uncertain whether to act compliant and allow the situation, or to shove him away like he no doubted wanted to, if the curling of his fists were anything to go by.

"Unless," he lowered his voice. "You're calling me a liar?" he let his magic flicker, teasingly, across the other boy's skin.

For a moment, he was certain Evans was going to attack him, he almost hoped he would try, but then he slumped.

"Okay, you got me," the boy mumbled, seeming to disappointedly surrender. He'd hoped to get at least twenty four hours of game! "They mentioned you to me when I came to Hogwarts, just giving some examples of people and stuff like that. Then, when my portkey went wrong, you were like the only person I recognised, and so your name slipped out…later, I didn't want you to think I was a stalker or anyth-"

"-Since when do the teachers talk about other students?" he asked.

"It was just to give examples of-"

"-Most teachers, if asked such a question, would offer the names of successful alumni," he interjected.

"Well, if you think you already know the answer or are just going to keep interrupting, why are you bothering asking me questions?" Harry returned coldly, pushing him back. He tilted his head to one side.

"Feisty little thing, aren't you?"

"What do you want?" Evans growled, seeming to snap.

It seemed the new boy had a short temper, submissive people were normally more tolerant.

"Answers."

"I already gave them."

"The truth."

"Really?" Harrison's eyebrows arched. "Doesn't seem like something someone like you would have much use for."

"Someone like me?" he seized on the words. Evan's jaw clenched, before he replied sweetly:

"Someone who seems like a total, and utter, jerk. Do you normally pin the first years up against walls too, or is it just me?"

"Just you, Evans, just you. Now, are you a misanthropist, or do you just hold an inexplicable special dislike for me?"

"Actually, I can safely say that nothing in my mind is special when it comes to you…in fact, you don't even feature!"

The other gave a colossal push, shoving him back a few steps, glaring at him, face flushed, smoothing down his robes. Then he attempted to leave; a second dismissal.

Unnaceptable.

* * *

Harry was seething silently, and more unnerved than he cared to admit.

Tom Riddle was definitely not what he had expected, sure, he'd expected the other to play the role of model student, but this was something else, unexpected.

He'd only taken a few steps when a hand snapped around his arm, reeling him back like a gutted fish on a hook.

"I guess we'll have to do something about that, won't we?" the young Dark Lord practically _purred. _

He tugged at his arm, only for the other's grip to tighten, crushing, painful. His hand flew to his wand, only for Riddle to seize hold of that wrist too.

"Get your hands _off _me," he spat.

"Make me," the Slytherin Heir challenged, eyes alight with a type of flame, a cruel glint…and Harry abruptly flew back down to earth from whatever dimension his sensible mind had drifted up to.

This was not what he was supposed to be doing. He wasn't supposed to talk back or interact like this; he didn't want to draw the other's remembrance, attention or interest, the results would be disastrous! Bile rose in his throat.

The other was just so - irritating! - that it was difficult to not rise against his arrogance.

All through breakfast and all morning he'd had to listen to people gushing about the evil twit, it was driving him insane. He didn't even ask, everyone just assumed that he wanted to know all about the bastard…he probably knew more about Riddle than any of them did anyway, with their garrulous gossip of how every girl, and some of the boys, wanted to be with him, of how it was amazing to get into his closest circle and ugh…the list went on.

He honestly didn't care how powerful Riddle was, how he was talented and so intelligent that even the teachers were in awe of him, or of any of the encounters people had with him (which they seemed to compulsively want to share like a mark of pride.)

He struggled to pull the reign on his emotions, like he'd so often had to do with the Dursleys, lowering his head docilely, slumping his shoulders. He waited in silence, and loathed every minute of it.

"Come now," Riddle taunted, "you're not giving up so easily, are you? That doesn't seem like you."

"How would you know?" he replied quietly. "You know nothing about me."

Then he nearly slapped himself. Despite the meeker tone, that was still the wrong response to give. Damn it!

"I wouldn't say nothing," the Slytherin Heir stated. Somehow, for whatever bizarre reason, it seemed he'd offended the other. He just couldn't catch a break! "But, tell me about yourself, then, and allow me to make a more accurate judgement."

"There's not much to tell," he replied softly, making sure to keep his head down, so the other couldn't see the flames and hatred in his eyes.

"Then it shouldn't take you very long to tell either."

"Why do you care? I'm nobody."

"Diamond dust."

"Huh?" he frowned.

"_Excuse me," _Riddle said in response.

"What?" he was even more confused now. Riddle's grip tightened.

"You don't say 'huh' like a gormless idiot, you say excuse me."

Harry almost snarled at the response, and the smirk directed his way. Now the Slytherin was correcting his _language? _Who did he think he was!

He wanted to say something scathing, but bit his tongue with great difficulty…act meek, act like he's broken you, and he'll go away…still. He wasn't going to repeat the words 'excuse me' like a patronised child.

"What do you mean by 'diamond dust'?" he questioned.

"On first glance, you seem like nobody, an insignificant, filthy speck of dust that is no use or interest to anyone…_but, _if you're shined, a person may find that the dust is not dust at all, but something far more valuable, which only increases in value when pieced together. A diamond."

How sickeningly poetic. He was weak at the knees, really. Cue sarcasm.

Harry bit his tongue again, with the feeling that if he had to endure Riddle much longer his metaphorical tongue was going to be bitten bloody.

Somehow, he'd never expected to hear flattery come from Riddle's mouth and yet, from the devil's own words, he'd always had a talent for persuasion. Of course that would include an ability to compliment and seduce.

Not that it was working. Harry saw right through him, as disconcerting as the effort was. It was unsettling to have someone's attention so intensely fixed upon you.

He really wasn't sure what to say in response, as he had to automatically cut out all the things that first came to his head - 'how corny are you?' 'I'm flattered' in a dry tone of voice, 'what are you, a treasure hunter?'

It seemed he didn't need to, because the grip released him a moment later, and Riddle was striding away down the corridor as if there was nothing out the ordinary.

"I'll see you around, Evans."

_Not if he could help it. _

* * *

_A/N: Do you think Harry is too much like Harrison Evans already? (From a Fate's Favourite perspective) I'm trying to diffrentiate the two, and have this Harry more canon-y...how am I doing? Does Tom seem different at all?_

_Ugh, it's so hard trying to undo two years of characterisation writing, haha. I hope I'm doing okay. _

_Thank you for all the reviews :) I hope you continue to enjoy!_


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter 3:

A week or so had passed, a horrible week of pretending incompetence and gaining increased disdain from the snakes, of having to deal with Tom Riddle and frantically trying to find some way out of the nightmare he had fallen into.

He'd made quasi-friends, or at least warm acquaintances, with a Hufflepuff boy called Roger Watkins, and a Ravenclaw girl called Imogen Pierce.

They were both muggleborn, and he was glad for it, because he'd noted that pretty much every pureblood flocked to Riddle, or were at least on good terms with him.

Even the Potters.

He'd almost had a heart attack when he heard about Charles "call me Leonard" Potter, in the year above. Apparently, his middle was Leonard, and he favoured it because he said Charlus made him sound like an old man.

Harry had felt a smile, one of the first since he arrived here, tug at his lips at that - he hadn't met the sixth year though.

Imogen was very clever, of course, she'd had to be for her house, but she wasn't all about books like he'd once assumed. It made him realise how little he'd associated with any of the other houses or students in his own time, outside of Ron and Hermione.

It was utterly disconcerting having to make friends again.

He'd considered complete isolation, so there were less people to remember him, but then he'd noted that Riddle was more likely to stay away when he was in a crowd of people.

Despite this, he seemed to be bizarrely gaining something of a reputation - horrific, in itself. People noticed him when Riddle noticed him, which, he had to say, was sodding inconvenient, because Riddle did not know when to back off. It was alarming, to say the least.

When Riddle wasn't around, he was able to slip out of notice quite effectively if he said so himself, but the second the young Dark Lord was there and interacting with him, for some reason everyone zoned and remembered his presence.

He figured their attention was simply following the - admittedly powerful and easily noticeable - Slytherin Heir, but sill.

They sat doing Defence Homework. The teacher currently was Professor Merrythought, and he thought she was alright, a damn sight better than most the Defence teachers he'd had before (barring Remus, and, oddly, Moody/Crouch).

"What's going on between you and Tom Riddle?" Imogen asked suddenly, studying him, the words a decisive blurt. Harry started.

"Going on? What do you mean 'going on'? There's nothing going on between me and Riddle, I can assure you of that!" Harry replied.

Imogen looked sceptical, and Roger's attention had shifted onto the conversation too.

"Really?" she questioned dubiously. "It's just that…well. Never mind."

"What?" Harry demanded. Imogen appeared marginally uncomfortable.

"Well, it's just that…um, it kind of seems like there is - something going on between you, I mean. Every time you two start talking - and for some of who claims disinterest as much as you, you do talk to him at least once a day - it's somewhat, er, intense."

Harry stared at her, gob smacked.

Roger twirled his pen anxiously.

"With everyone else, and us, you seem quiet and stuff but with _him_, I don't know, your personality just completely seems to shift. All of a sudden it's like you're breathing fire and all witty and whatever, while half the time, we can hardly get a word out of you…not that I'm complaining or anything, mind," Roger added hastily, eyeing him kindly with big toffee brown eyes. "It's just…well…if there was something going on, you would tell us, wouldn't you? And, er, keep us out of it?"

"Keep you out of it?" Harry repeated, feeling slightly lost.

Imogen shot her mousy friend a sharp look, before sighing.

"What do you know about Tom Riddle?"

Too much.

Slytherin Heir. Evil genius Dark Lord. Psychotic mass murderer. I am Lord Voldemort.

"He's prefect," Harry replied. "A genius, halfblood, and people have annoying habit of worshipping the ground of he walks on and is pure evil."

Roger frowned at the last bit.

"Pure evil?" he repeated, with a laugh. "That's a bit too far, are you seriously saying you don't have a history with him after that?"

Oops.

"Anyway," Imogen dismissed, suddenly reminding him of Hermione. "The point is, you don't get in his way. He's…dangerous. Utterly gorgeous and incredibly intelligent, but…dangerous if he's crossed. You probably haven't heard _those _stories…"

Harry leaned forward, despite himself, fascinated. Tom Riddle was infuriating...and far too interesting sometimes.

"What stories?"

* * *

Abraxas Malfoy watched as Harrison Evans walked out the library, bidding goodbye to the two mudbloods who's company he'd seemed to have fallen into.

It was appalling.

He honestly didn't understand what his Lord saw in the boy…yes, there was _something_ about him, but it was the tiniest spark, not worth anything, destroyed by layers upon layers of filth, stupidity and incompetence.

The halfblood couldn't even cast a stunner for Salazar's sake! It wasn't like he was a threat if left unattended.

He presumed Tom was just playing with Evans, that was the only reasonable explanation, and they'd all been sure to express their disdain. He strode over, catching up with the newest Slytherin.

"Harrison," he greeted.

"Malfoy."He nearly frowned at the address, but dismissed it impatiently.

"How are you settling in?"

"Fine, thank you."

They walked towards the Slytherin Common Room in silence for a moment, Evans' posture atrocious as normal. He came to a stop outside, blocking the entrance, noting the other stiffen fractionally.

"Look," he began. "I get it, you're new, you don't understand how things work in Slytherin so I'll explain it to you: in Slytherin, we normally do not associate ourselves with people like Watkins and Pierce."

"People like Watkins and Pierce?" Harrison enquired delicately. Naïve idiot.

"Mudbloods. Filth"

"I see…and what does what you normally do have to do with me?"

That time, he did frown, disconcerted. Everything about Evans suggested he should be docilely submitting right now!

"It means you should stop seeing them, it's unbecoming."

"And if I refuse?" Harrison's eyes met his, and he almost reared back in shock.

Gone was compliance and meekness and harmlessness, in its place was something that could definitely be considered a threat, danger, defiance, steel.

Gone was submissive posture and visibly wary or humble expressions…

"Then we could make life in Slytherin very difficult for you," he warned, lightly, almost flinching under that suddenly intense gaze.

It was like Tom's, he felt like he could quake under it, as if it was searing through his soul, seeing everything. It was…unyielding.

For a brief flash, he could understand completely why his lord was so enamoured, so determined to see this proud, stubborn, fiercely independent and not the worst looking creature, tamed.

Then, that too was gone, replaced by contemptuous anger.

"I wonder what it's like having a difficult life," Harrison returned dryly. "Is that all, Malfoy? Or would you like me to pretend to cower?"

He appraised the other, incredulous at what he was hearing and seeing. His eyes narrowed to mercury slits. So maybe the kid had a hidden fire inside him, that didn't stop him being an incompetent fool who could scarcely cast a stunner.

He'd mention it to Tom.

Before he could respond, the boy had walked into the common, slipping away like a shadow, fading like a ghost back to a different, more insipid persona.

Abraxas Malfoy narrowed his eyes.

Harrison Evans was not what he seemed.

* * *

Harry's head was swimming with new information.

He'd suspected Riddle's empire, but he hadn't…it was different hearing the stories, tales of how efficiently and ruthlessly he cut down his opponents.

Accounts of men and women who'd tried to resist him over the years - one of them, Abraxas Malfoy, and that seemed bizarre from what he'd seen in regards to the blonde's devotion to the Slytherin Heir - only to succumb under the young Dark Lords concentrated efforts.

No one had lasted longer than a month, maybe two, under such focus.

Riddle didn't just push them aside and defeat them, no, it was worth, every single person who'd once rebelled against his power and control had ended up desperate for attention, broken husks, pets and toys.

To disturb him further, Harry had come to note that some of the people most faithful and infatuated with Tom were those who'd bucked against them most. He didn't beat them, he _destroyed_ them, only through with them when they were pleading for a continuation of his favour.

Harry shuddered.

So lost in his thoughts was he, that he almost didn't notice the figure entering the dormitory where he sat alone - being up here, in isolation, was better then being down in the common room with such unsavoury company on offer. He froze.

Speak of the devil.

"What do you want, Riddle?" he demanded.

"My, how unfriendly of you," the other murmured, with a light tsk. "Don't be rude, Harry."

"My friends call me Harry," he said stiffly. "You are not one of them."

"And the badger and the raven are? How quaint, _Harry."_

He gritted his teeth, but resolutely ignored the other. He'd noticed that tended to piss Riddle off, as did walking away - although, with both, he'd noted a very real danger of the other escalating to provoke a reaction or somehow prevent him from such movement.

He actually had _bruises _on his arm! It was unbelievable.

The other leaned closer, and Harry quickly tucked his book - the offensive and defensive spell compilation - out of sight, fixing his gaze on the duvet instead, reaching to get something out of his bag to do instead while the other insisted on pestering him.

Fingers slid, teasingly, around his jaw, tilting his head up, causing his muscles to lock and his gut to squirm with discomfort and tension.

"You know, darling, mixing with mudbloods when you've been warned off them doesn't really correlate with this submissive little picture of yourself that you've painting for the world," Riddle stated softly, a deadly smirk upon his lips.

"Did you just call me _darling?"_ Harry demanded, aghast. "Stop it!"

"Stop what, sweetheart?" Harry stared at the other in absolute horror.

"Calling me - couple nicknames!"

"What else would you have me call you?" Tom's smirk broadened, wickedly, a pad of thumb tracing against his lip. "You refuse to let me call you Harry."

"Call me - Evans!" he snapped.

"My, you do sound flustered," the other stated, gaze glittering. "I'll take that as invitation to continue."

Harry glared, feeling a flush creeping across his cheeks.

"You can call me Harry," he conceded finally, hating himself.

Tom's eyes widened innocently, looking a mocking picture of contriteness, it was almost enough to make Harry think he wanted to laugh before he realised with dismay who he was reacting to. Damn Riddle! Damn him!

"But that would be inappropriate, as we are not yet friends," the Slytherin Heir replied infuriatingly, tauntingly.

Harry struggled to keep his composure, having the horrible feeling that it was already shot to pieces.

"And calling me bloody couple nicknames is appropriate?" he questioned incredulously, suddenly feeling somewhat hysterical, tugging his head out the other's grip.

Tom merely shrugged, casually, challenge in every crevice of his posture.  
It drove Harry mad.

"If you don't like it, sunshine, why don't you stop me?"

His jaw clenched, mutinous, his voice strained.

"What do you want from me?" he asked again.

What did he had to concede to Riddle to make the other stop? The Slytherin gave him a considering look.

"Perhaps you are a Slytherin after all, lion tendencies aside."

Harry eyed the other furiously, feeling far too helpless for his liking, and not knowing what Riddle meant by that statement.

Tom was just - urgh! He got under your skin like nothing else with his comments and his arrogance and -! Evil murderer.

He waited, unable to do anything else, feeling like a mouse in the coils of a serpent.

"You want me to call you Evans, and stop with the 'couple nicknames' etc?" the other verified, sweetly. He nodded tightly, not at all certain of what he was doing, struggling to come across as if he had a clue how such negotiations and deals of concession worked.

He'd never had to deal for rights like this before.

"Then," Riddle's smile was shark like, dripping danger, with none of the model student charm to mask it, but charming nonetheless. "Bend that pretty little neck of yours and _beg_ for me to stop."

Submission.

Bile clawed up his throat.

"Go to hell, Riddle," he spat. Unexpectedly, that smirk only widened, revealing a flash of wolfish, gleaming white teeth.

"Only if you come with me…_darling."_

The other walked over to his own bed abruptly, drawing a book from his trunk, before turning for the door again, stopping as he reached it, only to pause in the frame of the entrance, features flawlessly smooth and unreadable.

"Know thy enemy, Harry, have you ever heard that saying?"

Riddle walked out without another word, without waiting for response, leaving Harry feeling agitated and frustrated.

What did that even _mean?_

* * *

_A/N: Writer's Block :(  
Thanks for all the fabulous reviews, I'm thrilled you're enjoying PP so far! :)_


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four:

Tom watched the other boy hungrily, devouring the flickering nature of his personas, the shining glimmers of Evans' true character buried beneath projections of weakness and docility.

He didn't know why it churned his gut to see the submissiveness - he preferred to see people submit to his own power and authority, he always had.

Oh, he understood why the snatches of defiance interested him; it was a challenge to be torn apart and shredded. What he didn't understand was why, when Harrison was already acting as if he were willing to allow him to be dominant when the other remained unprovoked, he was so eager to tease that defiance out.

Maybe it was because the compliance felt like a mockery, as well as something beautiful wasted.

Harry had power, something he'd always respected even in his enemies - especially in his enemies - and maybe it galled him to see such power and potential go neglected.

That was probably it.

It was no fun when Harry submitted to him on such a surface level, in bland interaction, because he could practically taste the fire beneath.

He didn't want to tame a candle, he wanted to tame the absolute, raging, seemingly unyielding blaze that he knew was there, taunting him.

Anything less, was a failure.

Besides, the boy was intriguing, a puzzle and an enigma he had yet to work out. It offered something to occupy him, and he hadn't been bored once since the new Slytherin had arrived.

His followers were probably relieved at that, the fools.

He was distracted, and they didn't view Evans as any threat to their own position. To them, Harrison was a perfect little sacrifice to amuse him. A smirk curled in his lips.

The next step to victory was to coax the boy into the open, onto the board.

He just needed to find the right strings.  
A weakness to exploit.

He'd planted some seeds already, noting the books Harrison was reading (advanced duelling, how had this gem managed to convince people he was incompetent!) and noting the dislike the other held for him, (and why was that? He_ would _find out) combining the two.

Know thy enemy.

Harry craved knowledge. Harry viewed him as an enemy. Harry needed to be persuaded that it was essential to his life to find out more about Tom.

To find out more, Harry would have to play.

It wouldn't be enough on its own, he suspected, but it was a starting hook.

By the time he was done, Harrison Evans would not be able to live without him.

_Mission accepted._

* * *

Harry couldn't believe his luck!

He, Roger and Imogen stopped warily at the group of Slytherins blocking their path.

Malfoy, Prince, Black, Avery, Dolohov, Mulciber, Nott, Rosier.

He swallowed, getting a bad feeling in his gut.

He may not have been in Slytherin for long, but he had never seen this group together before! In fact, they seemed to dislike each other. Of course, there seemed to be a lot of dislike and factions within the house, but…that made this unity even worse.

This was not going to be pretty.

Where was Lestrange? Probably with Tom, as otherwise he'd have no reason not to be here.

"Harrison," Malfoy greeted, with an icy smile.

"Malfoy," he gave Prince and Black quiet greetings too, taking care not to look at Alphard too closely. It was unnerving seeing such hate and contempt in a Sirius look alike.

He noted they didn't acknowledge either Roger or Imogen, who'd both turned silent, and a little pale, gripping their wands tightly.

The corridor around them was emptying - he'd even see people who began to enter it quickly turning and hurrying away! The cowards.

"I see you still insist on associating yourself with mudbloods, despite my advice," Abraxas continued, sneering at him.

"Well," Prince said calmly. "You can't blame him…after all, he's almost with his own kind now."

"Of course we can't! Alphard exclaimed, sounding comically shocked at the idea. "It's not his fault he's never been properly…_educated_ on the right sort and the wrong sort."

Harry's mouth felt dry. He had a horrible feeling where this was going.

Their wands were out now, and Harry pulled his out too, ignoring their laughter. It echoed in his ears, swimming across the red haze descending upon his vision at the sight of Roger and Imogen's terrified faces.

Mulciber, Avery, Nott, Dolohov and Rosier were all nodding along, a terrible anticipation on their faces.

His mind flashed to the Graveyard, the ring of Death Eaters.

"Do you know what I'm thinking - Avery, do you know what I'm thinking?" Abraxas questioned, as the eight of them began to span into a circle around them.

Harry could feel his muscles jumping, on edge. He was certain he could put up a decent fight, he spent almost all of his free time training in some capacity or another, but he was also certain that he was nowhere good enough yet to get out of this unscathed.

"Well, I'm thinking that you're thinking this is a school," Avery said, menace in his eyes. Abraxas smiled, almost proudly.

"Exactly! And…what do we do in a school…Rosier?"

"We teach lessons," Rosier smirked.

Oh no.

The first curse was cast a second later.

* * *

Zevi Prince almost lost the composure he esteemed so highly as he watched as Nott…Dolohov….Avery all began falling under Evan's wands as he twirled through them, his spells rolling into one with a sheer, tangible _angry_ power radiating from him, strong enough not to make him feel like the hair on the back of his neck would singe.

Harrison's technique was clumsy, his spells all light, but there was a grace about the newest Slytherin, and he was fast, with a deadly aim…and he attacked viciously.

That was what was giving Evans an edge; his attack was relentless and vicious, and he seemed hardly to feel the cutting curses and pain curses or anything they threw at him.

Icy fear began to prickle up his spine.

Abraxas had mentioned that the boy was more powerful than he seemed, and he'd assumed some hidden talent in Evans if their lord was interested, but he hadn't expected - this!  
Watkins and Pierce seemed just as shocked.

He was incredulous as to how the incompetent, weak, occasionally feisty wizard they thought they'd assessed reconciled with this jaded _warrior. _

Because Evans seemed like a warrior now, more than a meek school boy.

There was true anger and hate in his eyes, and he wondered what on earth had happened in the boy's to glaze his gaze with such shadow. He defended, fiercely, adjusting to the new opponent, adapting, searching for flaws.

Evans wouldn't win, he was too outnumbered, but there was definite potential there.

Zevi had the awful feeling that one day, Evans would be able to obliterate them all in such a confrontation without effort.

It was an unnerving, chilling realisation.

He never misjudged people like this!

He wondered how he could ever have underestimated Harrison Evans, and, more importantly…why the boy would take such an unassuming, derogatory act upon himself.

Watkins and Pierce were fighting too, but he barely acknowledged them - they were fighting Rosier and Mulciber, trying to avoid the swift art of curses slicing at their skin.

The battle continued.

* * *

Tom stopped with surprised delight at the scene in front of him.

He didn't know what his knights had done, but it seemed they'd coaxed _his _challenge out to play.

For a moment, he was fascinated, transfixed, just for a moment at the fluidity of Harrison's attacks, the sheer rage and lack of masks upon him. Then, he darted forwards, wand out, leaping into the fray, grabbing hold of the other's boy arm, knowing all his knights (those still conscious) would stop immediately.

Harry whipped around, a snarl on his lips, before freezing.

Wariness drained into his eyes, defiance immediately restrained as if tauntingly denied from him. He wanted to smash Harrison's head against a wall and hurt him, just to bring it back.

It was bitterly unfair if _they _got to play with his new toy, and he didn't. He'd discovered the other's talent first, finders keepers, and his followers should know better than to touch what belonged to him.

His grip tightened, hard enough to cause Harry to suppress a wince.

He surveyed his knights of Walpurgis- and right now, they weren't even worthy of that title! - with threats or torture in his eyes.

He was gratified to see them cower, all bravado gone from their countenances.  
Pierce and Watkins were frozen, Pierce holding up a rather battered badger. His smirk nearly broadened.  
Pathetic.

"Now _that_," he drawled, with a glance and smirk for Harry, pushing such sentiments aside, "was impressive, darling."

Evans was staring at him in something like shock, certainly confusion, though he made a valiant effort to conceal both emotions.

His own followers were gaping at the nickname, uncertain, while Pierce and Watkins were looking wildly between he two of them, before back at Evans with almost accusing eyes.

He shifted to a more casual demeanour, withholding the pleasure of punishment, knowing full well that his followers knew it was coming to them for - even if they weren't, stupidly, aware of why - and fearing him even more for it. It was delicious.

"Thank you," the boy said after a moment, head dipping with 'humility.'

"No need to be shy," he tutted, circling the scene. "Your secrets out, there's not much you can do to hide your talents now."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" he questioned flatly, only marginally amused now. He pointed his wand at Evans. "_Torqueo."_

As he'd suspected, Harrison blocked his curse on instinct, head snapping up to glare at him.

"Good boy," Tom murmured.

"Don't patronise me you bastard."

Watkins and Pierce seemed about to faint from incredulity. Harrison stepped towards him, his entire posture screaming defiance.

"It appears you don't have a very good leash on your followers," he stated, with a goading grin.  
Tom immediately noted the certainty in the other's tone at "follower."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he returned, eyes glittering at the frustration that appeared in Harry's own irises, as he manipulated his features to innocent bewilderment.

"Don't you?" Harrison questioned flatly, studying him.

_He knew._

Somehow, this boy knew things about him.

He didn't like it.

Knowledge was power, and Harrison had far more knowledge on him, it seemed, than he was comfortable with.  
In turn, he knew next to nothing about his enigma, but that he did know made sure he thirsted for more.

He took a step forward, closing the gap between them further.

"Why don't you fill me in?" he murmured.

"Fill you in on what?" the other questioned, mirroring his expression, though unable to quench that everpresent defiance from his gaze.

Eyes revealed the truth of this stranger.

He would have to ensure he could always see the boy's eyes in future conversation, if he could, for while Evans appeared a talented liar with his tongue and posture, those eyes gave him away. "That would suggest that there's something going on," the boy continued.

His attention sharpened, enchanted. None of his followers dared trade jabs with him anymore, knowing he could decimate them in seconds.

"Or that you believe something is going on," he returned.  
Like how he somehow knew him.

"Of course," Harry admitted easily, momentarily jarring him with the unexpectedness of the response. "Most people believe you're up to something, I dare say there are entire rumour mills and betting pools focussed on the subject of what exactly is going on."

Was it just him, or had the boy's voice turned almost…insinuating on the last part? He tilted his head to one side. "

"And you," he ran a finger down the side of the other's face, testing if the flinch had been an act or not. "You're a regular man of mystery yourself."

The flinch was still there, though Harrison appeared to be getting better at repressing it.

His new snake was probably realising that having such an obvious weakness in aversion to touch within their house was inviting people to increase physical contact with him as a means of power play.

"Curious?" Harrison raised his brows, locking gazes with him.

It was the first time somewhat had met his gaze so fearlessly since first year. He'd almost forgotten the sensation.

"Immensely," he breathed.

A flash of disconcertion crossed the other's face, as if he hadn't expected such a response.

There was an over all confused, guarded look hidden deep in the boy, actually, as if he expected something different from entirely.

Preconceptions? But to have preconceptions, you must have previous knowledge of a person, and he was certain he and Harrison Evans had never met before. He'd remember it vividly.

"Killed the cat."

"I'm a snake," he replied.

Something else flashed in those too open eyes, and this time, he couldn't place the emotion, the shift of the boy's lips. Had…had he been about to laugh?

Nonetheless, he could hear students beginning to approach their corridor, and stepped back, slipping seamlessly into another capacity.

"You should be more careful, _Harry_," he warned with a smile. "The world's a dangerous place."

"With dangerous people," Harrison replied, not shifting his gaze from him.

Something disturbingly like a genuine smile nearly fleeted across his lips.

"Indeed."

He turned and walked away.

Stage two: learn his secrets.  
_Commence._

But, for now, he had incompetents to punish.

* * *

A/N: Gosh, this is actually really hard to write. I'm so used to the FF variants of Tom and Harry...

Speaking of Tom and Harry...I have some new fic ideas I've been mentally toying with to throw at you (feel free to lob ideas at me in return by the way, they're helpful, even if I don't always use them)

Okay...

Idea 1: One of those fics where Tom Riddle is a teacher/ruler of the world, and Harry comes to Hogwarts for the first time etc/is a student. Those mentor style fics. Though I have to try and somehow make it original from the other awesome, similar stories out there. :/

Idea 2: Harry and Diary Tom centric fic. Again, must make original. Hmmm. 

Idea 3: Harry and Draco oneshot.

Idea 4...taking a cautious poke at another fandom entirely. So far I have considered Merlin or Sherlock. Hum.

But yeah, just thought I'd test the waters to see if there's interest for any of those, before I let my mind drift towards mentally writing scenes stages. Er, yeah. 

Thanks for all the reviews! :)

**PS: FREAKING DAMN IT! I keep accidently clicking on Fate's Favourite to upload onto :(**

PPS: Sorry about the oddities in this chapter when I posted, it appeared to have cut out some of the text. I think i've fixed it now, sorry!


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five:

"Honestly, I can't quite decide if you're my hero or not," Roger stated, eyeing him.

Harry rolled his eyes.

Since the utterly inconvenient confrontation with the Slytherins (and suddenly they all had a renewed interest him, and there was absolutely no chance of going unnoticed as rumours about him and the duel spread around the snake pit like wildfire) neither Roger of Imogen and been able to shut up about it.

Or Tom Riddle.

Or, specifically, him and Tom Riddle.

Just the 'and' between their names annoyed him, suggesting connection between the two of them he didn't want present. He'd had enough of bonds to last him a lifetime!

"It really wasn't very wise of you to antagonise him," Imogen murmured, reproachingly. It was an old conversation, he was getting marginally sick of it to be honest.

"Oh come on, Im!" Roger protested. "It was brilliant!"

"Yes, providing Harrison wants attention, which you led us to believe you didn't."

"You said Riddle's easily bored," Harry dismissed.

"Yes, I did," Imogen replied sharply. "So the amazing thing - no offence - is that he finds you riveting. That doesn't bode well, you know. He's ruthless."

Harry muttered something dark under his breath.

"Well," Roger returned. "Maybe it's about time someone stood up to Riddle."

Imogen scowled.

"You wouldn't be saying that if he could hear you."

Roger had the grace to look sheepish at that, but he still shrugged.

"Doesn't mean it 'aint true," was all he said, before he cast a tempus charm. "Gosh, say, I have to go - I'm late for Gobstones club, I'll see you later, alright? Im, you said you wanted some help with your Transfiguration Homework?"

"Oh, yes," Imogen blushed suddenly. "Yes, thanks. You'll help me then?"

Harry looked between them for a moment.  
Ron and Hermione. He suddenly had the most intense homesickness.

"Yeah, sorry," he began, looking at Im. "I'm going to going to head off too…get some work done and stuff."

"Do you want any help?" she asked, perking up, before faltering. She hadn't taken well to the fact that he was rather obviously playing himself down in class. "Not that you need any," she added, marginally more stiffly. "If you'd only apply yourself-"

"Bye Imogen," Harry said quickly, nearly running to escape the impeding Ravenclaw lecture.

She huffed after him, though not surprised he was disappearing. He only spent a small fraction of his time - in lessons and between them at lunch and break - with the two of them.

In the mornings, when he woke up early from nightmares, or late into the night, he trained. He'd found this incredible room on the Seventh Floor, having asked a House Elf if there was any place he might be able to use to practise.

He knew the quiet, humble creatures probably wouldn't tell on him to anyone, and the so called 'disappearing room' truly was perfect. Seeing them made him miss the future and Dobby though, even if he rarely went to go see the funny little elf.

He headed towards the room, glad it was a weekend, scarcely able to believe he'd been in the past for three weeks already.

It would be October soon, it was bizarre.

He sighed.

Three weeks and he still didn't have a way to go home.

He'd tried pestering Dumbledore and Dippet about it, but all they said was that they were still searching and that they'd tell him if they found anything.

Was it so bad that he just wanted to go home?

He was halfway there when he heard the most annoying and hated voice known to human and animal kind.

"Harry."

"You stalking me or something, Riddle?" he questioned irritably.

The other ducked into his way, causing him to stop in order to avoid collision.

"Call it Fate that we keep running into each other," the other returned, smirking. "It might not insult your precious sensibilities so much."

"That line is unbelievably corny," Harry stated flatly. "If that's what you use on the girls, it's no wonder you're single."

"Oh, you noticed my relationship status?" Riddle winked at him. "I'm flattered, darling."

Harry spluttered.

"No-I-that's not-you're infuriating! What do you want?"

"You."

"Funny."

"To stop acting incompetent," Riddle finished, the smirk dropping. Harry started.

"What?"

"Excuse me," the other corrected.

"I'm not starting that again!" Harry snapped. He sidestepped, trying to walk past, only for the Slytherin Heir to dodge into his way again, pressing a hand lightly onto his shoulder, warningly.

"Stand still and I won't have to shove you into a wall again…unless you enjoy that? Is that why you suddenly took an interest to my relationship status?"

For the love of-!

"You know," he said sweetly. "You really are incredible Tom…incredibly arrogant. How is it that you and your ego can fit in through the door?"

"Because an ego is not actually a tangible object, and thus, its size has no correlation on one's physical capabilities," Riddle returned. "Don't you know _anything_?"

Harry blinked, involuntarily amused by the rather strange response.

"…was that a joke?" he checked.

Riddle shot him a scathing look. Harry wasn't entirely sure if it meant 'obviously' or 'don't be ridiculous.' He studied the other, uncertainly.

"What's in it for me if I do stop pretending to be incompetent in public?" he questioned warily. The Slytherin Heir favoured him with an inscrutable look for a moment.

"Good grades."

"If I cared about those, I daresay I'd put more effort into them in the first place," he replied, thinking fast. "I'll do it if you leave me alone."

Riddle's expression remained unchanged in his continued appraisal. It made Harry nervous. He didn't have a clue what the other was thinking.

"Okay," Riddle said, after a moment. Harry stared, not expecting such easy acceptance.

"Really?" he asked, not entirely sure why he felt…disappointed.

No, he was just confused. He had no reason to be disappointed when he was getting what he wanted, so, clearly, he wasn't disappointed.

He just…he supposed the famous Tom Riddle boredom had kicked in.

He felt blindsided, thrown off course.

"Okay then," he declared.

"Okay," Riddle concurred again, unreadable.

Harry hesitated for a few seconds, eyeing the other cautiously. It wasn't in his nature to trust this teenager…he seemed to be in agreement though…

"Right then," Harry muttered. "Bye Riddle."

Doing this brought himself more attention, and classes on Monday would no doubt be a nightmare of lectures, but…surely it was worth it to get rid of Tom's intrusive presence?

He made his way to the so called Room of Requirement, not entirely sure why he felt unsettled.

* * *

Tom watched the boy go, with a vindictive sense of triumph and also a little relief.

Harrison had seemed suspicious by his easy agreement, suspecting trickery, and, really, the boy's instincts were impeccable when he allowed himself to follow through with them - another reason why that weak persona had to leave, it repressed all his enigma's strongest instincts.

There were so many loopholes available to him in comparison to Harry that it was almost comical.

He'd wait until Harry had proved himself for about a week, so people didn't assume it was a fluke, and then he'd just start again.

After all, Evans had put no time limit on how _long _he had to leave him alone…and, indeed, he hadn't raised the boy's misgivings by adding an 'always' or 'forever' onto Harry's side of the bargain…but something like that couldn't be taken back so easily.

Once the professors knew what he was capable of, they'd hardly let him slack, and no one would fully believe his persona again, rendering it useless.

He'd be thoroughly pushed into the open for Tom to play with.

It was gorgeous. And, of course, if he got bored after lessons on Monday and wanted to toy with the other before then, he could simply target the boy's friends and then Harry would acknowledge him due to whatever hero complex he appeared to possess…the reaction could be stunning, if done right.

Harry, it seemed, revealed the most about himself when he was stressed or angry, and therefore, it was Tom's job to provoke such a response.

Oh, how fun it would be.

Once Harry was responding to him, he could see about embedding himself more firmly, and teasing out all those little secrets and quirks that thus far evaded him.

He almost pitied the boy.

Almost.

* * *

Monday came too quickly as Harry relished the last of his obscurity (and really, that was a tad overdramatic, the fact he could actually cast a stunner would soon blow over, and it wasn't like he was a Riddle-esque magical prodigy) before heading to Transfiguration, with Dumbledore.

He still couldn't get used to the sheer oddness of having _Dumbledore _teaching him. As much as he may have been at odds with the man's future self, he was a brilliant, if somewhat eccentric, teacher.

It seemed some things never changed.

He still had terrible dress sense which was now even more ludicrous because it clashed horribly with his auburn hair.

He was definitely a good teacher though, and as strict as McGonnagal in his own way. He certainly commanded the class.

He did seem…mistrustful of the Slytherins though, not that Harry really blamed him because Slytherins were…well, what if _some _Slytherins were more like him than Riddle? Unwilling snakes, cast aside and thought as dark or whatnot simply for their house?

It didn't seem fair.

It was highly disconcerting to be so quickly judged just for the green tie he sported. It made him feel a bit sorry for the Slytherins in his own time actually, where all the rivalry and prejudice was even worse after Voldemort.

His teeth gritted at the name, at the thought of the boy the snake-faced man used to be...

The boy sitting across the classroom with his flawless work and ability to do everything as if it was easy as breathing.

Smug git.

It made him feel like, if he was going to stop playing the role of the incompetent, that he should make the most of it and show the other up.

The annoying part was that he didn't think he was talented or powerful enough, which was both frustrating and humiliating. Even worse was the way his thoughts kept drifting to the other, almost obsessively…a fact which Imogen and Roger were in danger of noticing now he no longer blocked his ears when the Slytherin Heir came up in conversation.

It wasn't that he was some sycophantic groupie - perish the thought! - but he'd come to the conclusion that he didn't like not being aware of Riddle's activities.

At least when the other had been pestering him, he'd been able to track the other's nefarious habits, now, he was as lost as anyone as to what the Slytherin prefect was working on, or doing. He could be doing all sorts of awful, Dark Lord-y things and Harry wouldn't know any better! It made his skin itch.

That, and it was slightly disquieting to go from being the the object of such intense attention to suddenly not even being in the room.

He shook his head, despising himself. It was far too easy to get pulled into the Riddle-sphere, he'd decided. When the other was there, it was like Tom was all he could focus on, consuming. It was bloody annoying.

"Mr Evans…a perfect transfiguration," Dumbledore's voice floated across his table. "Do you mind repeating it?"

Harry looked down at his work, where he'd automatically cast the spell they were working on upon his rubber duck. They were supposed to be changing the ducks into wooden swords.

He didn't know why, but the future Headmaster often seemed to pick seemingly random things like that.

"Er, sure," he muttered, flicking his wand to change it back into a rubber duck to start over. Dumbledore's blue eyes sharpened on him, and Harry tilted his head, confused, before freezing.

Damn it. That was next lesson. Training intensively did have its advantages.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Um -" he cast the spell again, sheepishly. Dumbledore stared at him.

"That is a remarkable improvement," the man murmured, eyeing him. Harry grimaced. "Five points for such incredible progress," Dumbledore said quietly. "And a detention for hiding your skills."

Harry gaped as the man walked away to assist a Gryffindor two tables down without further comment.

Detention? What type of detention did Dumbledore give? He'd laugh about his with Ron and Hermione one day.

"Kills me to say it Evans, but he's got a point you know," Avery muttered, from behind him.

Harry shot him a glare, to which the other quickly looked away.

But Rosier picked up on the questions now, seeming to decide that if Avery had talked to him without getting his head torn off his shoulders, it was okay.

"How come you were pretending to be so pathetic anyway?" the boy demanded, chewing on the tip of his quill.

"Ditch attempt to stall the annoying questions," he deadpanned. Avery laughed nervously.

"Riddle noticed you though," Rosier stated. Harry stared down mutinously at his work desk at that comment.

"Yeah, well, Riddle's a genius isn't he?" Avery said, voice lowered, pointed. He supposed the baby Death Eaters weren't supposed to talk about their lord.

"Did you know, that he can look at a wall for like two seconds and tell you how many stones there are on it?" Rosier continued, leaning forward to talk to him. Harry wished he'd just shut up.

"Reasons to be pathetic…an attempt to stall annoying conversations," he added pointedly.

He felt them both bristle, and figured he'd offended them. He didn't care.

"I preferred you when you weren't so cocky, Evans," Rosier said coldly. "Wer'e just trying to be friendly."

Harry turned around at that, abruptly, eyes flashing.

"Friendly, you want to be _friendly_? Wow, that's odd, considering you and seven guys were trying to attack me less than two days ago! Are you normally so hasty to change your opinion, or are you just a spineless lackey who zones in on anything Riddle does or pays attention to in the hopes of piquing his attention? Is that it?"

"I-" Rosier gaped, like a fish.

Harry arched his brows, smiling.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he replied. "So back off and leave me the bloody hell alone. I want nothing to do with you."

He turned back to his work angrily, hating the stupid double standard, the way Tom Riddle had crept into every corner of Hogwarts like a disease. A contagion.

His gaze flicked to the boy in question, only to stop there, to find that familiar, piercing stare greeting him, fixed on him almost hungrily.

Riddle looked amused. Far too amused.

Harry flipped him the finger and dropped his aching head on the table.

_He just wanted to go home._

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for all the amazing reviews! I figured I better update for you :)_

_Still feel blocky on this. Maybe it's because I've got used to writing their FF characterisation. Maybe because I know the ending. Maybe because I should be sleeping according to my mother. Who knows?_

PS: Check out my new Tom Riddle and Harry Potter centric story "Solace in Shadows" if you're bored and looking for some random fanfictions to read ;) 


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six:

A week had passed, an impatient week in which Tom found other things to occupy his mind outside of Harrison Evans…or, at least, other things to dull the monotony and boredom of school life when he didn't have his new toy to play with.

All of his old ones seemed so dusty and used and familiar in comparison - it was like a puzzle he'd completed before, he already knew all the answers.

There was little thrill.

Not like with Harry. Harry was still unsolved.

He could admit in the private recesses of his mind that he may have been wavering on the edge of a new obsession, but it didn't really bother him.

He was, by nature, an obsessive person, ruthlessly discovering everything he could about whatever the present form of his interest took, to discard aside when he was satisfied.

Harrison Evans would no doubt follow the same process, and, indeed, his plans would be better for it as such obsession only favoured his aims to have the boy dependent on him.

He knew well enough that other people found the twists and changes of his attention to be disconcerting. Of course, none of his other toys had so insistently demanded privacy and for him to leave them alone, but that just made this more fun.

Now though, finally, the week was over and he could pick off where he left off, now that Harry was sufficiently forced into public scrutiny and respect by his new found competence.

An incompetent, pathetic stranger slipped by unnoticed, a powerful one - especially if they were also reasonably handsome and charming, as Harry was when he wasn't butchering his own persona - drew lights like moths.

They knew he was there now, he couldn't so easily slip into obscurity again.

He hadn't been idle during the week though, stealthily gathering reconnaissance through various webs and strings across his empire, as well as setting plans in motion and completing old ones.

According to his sources, Harrison's quick tongue had been making a frequent appearance, serving to highlight that despite his apparent appalling obliviousness in many aspects of Slytherin life, he was naturally insightful when he wanted to be. He could cut down his enemies well enough - both physically, as shown by the duel he'd witnessed, and verbally, according to the shaken and disgruntled assessment of Rosier.

He doubted the boy could match him, even if his power was higher than average (he didn't know how deep such power went, as he'd yet to coax Harrison's full aura out, but it was unlikely to come near to his) but he'd enjoy this anyway.

He was half way out the corridor, when someone called his name.

Lestrange.

"Can I talk to you?" Lestrange asked, softly, voice breathy.

"I have errands to run," he returned.

"-It won't take long!" the male had the gall to touch his arm, as if to restrain his movement.

The same fingers slid away under his icy gaze, but Lestrange continued to look at him. He switched his cold stare to the other's face, knowing and hoping it was liable to encourage that gaze away. Instead, Cygnus seemed to take it as an acceptance. "In private..?"

He studied the other for a moment, having a feeling he knew where this would be going. He didn't allow his expression to change. Then, he stepped out the common room, his follower at his heels. Lestrange's hands twisted anxiously, giving away his pathetic nerves.

"If you wanted to speak, speak," he ordered curtly.

He'd given Harry space for a week, he was loathe to give the other more time, especially when the boy tended to disappear for the whole of the weekends without sign.

If he wanted to secure a game, he'd have to do so now, as Harrison's last lesson of Friday (Divination - really?) finished. He had about a fifteen minute margin to catch up with his prey, providing Watkins and Pierce would try and encourage him to be more sociable, which they would, if their track record was anything to go by.

"I-I like you Tom," Lestrange blurted out, flushing a distasteful red colour. "A lot."  
This was what he thought it was. Joy.

"Stop now before you embarrass both yourself and me," he ordered disdainfully. Lestrange swallowed.

"I mean as more than friends-" he continued.

"I know perfectly well what you mean," he stated. Lestrange flushed further, glancing up at him, hopeful for some reason.

"You did?" he sounded delighted.

Of course he did, or did the stupid idiot not realise how he played these exact emotions to manipulate what he wanted out of him, and any other who tried. He knew the boy wasn't completely lacking in brains, otherwise he wouldn't tolerate him, but right now, he was struggling to see why he'd thought so.

He was silent, wondering how he could use this. He couldn't believe Lestrange was baring his foolish heart so openly; didn't he know Tom would just peck it out and delight to watch him bleed, only to give it back to continue tugging again? Surely, he knew.

Then, he supposed, that most people did. That was where the game and finesse lay - to have them know how much he would abuse them and still have them utterly addicted to him.

"So…would you want to go out sometime?" Lestrange persisted. Settled once more in his game, despite his initial surprise that the other was actually going through with this, he twisted his lips to a smile.

"An excellent idea."

"Really-" he watched the hopes rise to a crescendo, interrupting smoothly:

"Hogwarts can be so dull, I'll have to organise some trip for us all…when's the next Hogsmeade weekend?"

"Us all?" Lestrange squeaked, before seeming to realise he wasn't advocating the filthy thing his mind had jumped to, but simply a group trip to Hogsmeade.

He resisted the urge to smirk. The hopes crashed down, suspending inches before a bloody death.

"That's not what I meant, Tom," he said. "I, well, I meant, you and me, together, alone…on a…date."

Date: a) the day, month and year, the time of an event…b) a romantic engagement with somebody or c) a general appointment to meet someone. Lestrange meant the second, but he would use the third.

"I already have a date - right now in fact, sorry," he smiled. "But, who knows, impress me and prove your worth my time."

He turned away without another word, knowing full well the other interpreted his 'date' as a different type of date, in projection to his desires and the more common meaning.

Conclusion? Lestrange would be even more malleable to do whatever Tom asked him in an effort to impress him, while he himself never actually committed to anything because he knew he'd never find Lestrange worth his time and highly doubted the other would impress him.

Harrison would grow increasingly flustered and annoyed at where the assumptions and insinuations were coming from and would lash out, revealing his secrets in anger like Tom had planned.

Perfect.

* * *

Lestrange walked back slowly into the common room, an odd, wired feeling in his gut.

Tom hadn't said yes, and he knew it was likely that his lord was just humouring him because he was amazing like that, so considerate of everything.

Still, he could feel resentment bubbling aside his happiness, and stopped beside Abraxas and Zevi, who's rivalry was temporarily being challenged into a game of chess.

"Say," he tried to sound casual, "do you know who Tom is meeting now?"

They didn't look up, dismissing him as if he were some irritating fly. They would see who was laughing when their lord was his boyfriend!

"Evans, I would imagine," Abraxas replied coolly.

All his happiness vanished.

"Evans?" he demanded incredulously. "Tom's dating Evans!"

But…Evans was pathetic! Sure, he could actually cast a stunner it seemed, but he wasn't _dating _material. It was probably only a phase. Tom went through those, and they'd get to see the stupid boy crushed.

Zevi lowered his bishop back on its place, turning towards him for the first time, a slight frown on his face.

"What do you mean Tom's dating Evans? Where did you get such an idea?"  
He was smug with the knowledgeable of their rapt attention.

"Tom told me," he replied. Let them see what they want in to that - let them be jealous that Tom shared such things with him, not them.

Abraxas' head tilted.

"Evans?" he repeated again.

"I know, it's despicable," he began. "What does he see in-"

But they'd turned back to their game without further comment.

Actually…would Tom have wanted him to share that?  
Oops.

* * *

Harry turned the corner, calling an apology to Roger and the reluctant promise that he'd drop in on them at some point to prove he hadn't died in whatever his 'mysterious lonely pursuits' were, only to walk smack into someone as he didn't look where he was going.

Damn it!

"Oh god-sorry-!" he began, looking up, ready to try and do some serious appeasing.

Riddle.

This wasn't even funny. He straightened stiffly.

"Apologies, I'll look where I'm going next to time-" he hastened to continue, only for a grip to hook around his wrist.

"You know," Riddle said lazily. "When I said it was fate that we ran into each other, I didn't mean for you to take it quite so literally."

He tried to retract his hand, only for the other's grip to tighten.

"Let go," he said.

"And let you disappear for the next forty eight hours? I think not."

Harry was disturbed to know Riddle had picked up on his habits so quickly, and hadn't just assumed he was in the library or whatnot.

"You said you'd leave me alone," he reminded, hating the confusion pounding through his veins.

"And I did - for a whole week," Riddle smirked, his amusement only increasing as Harry's indignation grew.

"That's not fair!" he exclaimed. "That's-cheating!"

"It's not my fault you don't word your agreements better," Tom murmured, flashing him an innocent, dangerous smile. "Besides, all's fair in love and war."

"And considering this is neither, the point is moot," he snapped, about a second from drawing his wand and seeing how well his training had progressed on something other than a golem dummy.

"Perhaps," Riddle conceded, eyes glittering. "But, alas, I cannot claim any partiality towards fairness anyway."

Of course he wouldn't…

He gritted his teeth.

"Let me go I'll curse you."

"The thing about threats, darling," Tom returned, "is that they tell your opponent what you're planning to do, so they can prepare."

"Opponent?" Harry questioned. "That would suggest we are at war."

"I never said we weren't," Riddle smirked, dangerously. Harry narrowed his eyes.

"What the hell did I do to make you declare war on me and Merlin - let go, threats aside, I'm this close to cursing you!"

"I would love to see you try," the Slytherin Heir dared in response. "As for what you've done…it's more that you appear to have declared silent war on me the second we met, so it seemed only hospitable to reciprocate."

Harry resisted the urge to gape at the reply.

"You're insane."

There wasn't as much venom to his tone as there should have been, but he refused to admit that it felt nice lashing out like this, venting his frustrations, with no one to truly judge his behaviour.

He wasn't the Boy who Lived here, he was just Harry, so whatever he did here, was just Harry too, and he could only be judged for the present.

It was…liberating.

"Far more sane that most, actually," Riddle replied. Harry shook his head after a moment.

"Sane people don't stalk the new kid."

"It's only stalking if its inappropriate, unwanted attention."

"…and this isn't?" Harry demanded incredulously, wondering when the conversation had got so surreal, and why he wasn't simply firing a blasting curse at the other and having done with this whole conversation.

It had felt strange not being pestered by Riddle the whole week, and he'd already come to the conclusion that it was probably safer for all involved when he knew what Riddle was doing (at least partially, the Slytherin was confusing in his intentions, dancing between charm, threat, almost flirtatious commentary and total dismissal.)

"No, because if it was wholly unwanted you would have followed through on your threat-"

and didn't that just make Harry reach for his wand, only for Tom's hand to snap out, catching hold of his other wrist, tightly. He dug his nails in response, but the other didn't flinch. He figured he could kick if he needed to, and, in all honesty, he was more curious than he'd like to admit. There was just some quality about Tom Riddle that drew you in. He hated that thought so much, but wasn't stupid enough to deny its truth. He could see why this boy had followers, but he also knew he'd never be one of them.

"-and I find it to be perfectly appropriate. Therefore, it is not technically stalking," the other finished.

Harry almost laughed at how Riddle could make something like that sound reasonable. After a moment, the Slytherin pulled his wrist up, bringing Harry's wand to his eye level for study, with a light frown on his face.

"What?" Harry questioned, warily, tightening his grip so the other couldn't pull it off him, willing to humour Riddle for now, for whatever reason.

Probably because he felt better if Riddle was planning evil schemes to affect _his _wellbeing, as opposed to ruining the life of some poor innocent sod who thought butter wouldn't melt in his arrogant mouth.

"Why did you hide being hide the mask of an incompetent, weak wizard?" Tom questioned quietly, eyes flicking up to lock on his.

"To stall annoying people from talking to me," he said, like he had to Rosier, but Riddle's query was an echo.

"Hardly," the other stated. "You associate with Watkins and Pierce, rendering that objection invalid."

"Imogen and Roger aren't annoying!"

"Funny, for someone seemingly so untrusting, you're oddly quick to give your loyalty to those who are, still, essentially strangers," Riddle murmured.  
Harry's eyes narrowed to slits, and he violently yanked his wrists away, noting the slight surprise in the other's eyes when he did so, taking a step back.

"Come now, don't look so offended. If you liked them, you'd spend more time in their company."

And then Harry realised that though he was physically free, mentally, verbally, he was pinned. If he protested, he'd have to give a valid excuse as to why he didn't spend more time with them - ergo, what he did instead, and if he agreed, he was conceding to something horrible Riddle said, which wasn't true besides! He nearly growled.

Tom's eyes gleamed, but revealed nothing.

"Very clever," he breathed.

"Thank you," the other replied, with that smile.

It momentarily took Harry aback that Riddle wasn't denying having done anything. Silence stretched. He should have been walking away again, like he normally did and would have done so already, but to that in this occasion would be like submission, a concession that Riddle had beat him.

He refused.

"Roger and Imogen are great friends," he said carefully. "And I enjoy their company, but being of a rather more solitary nature I prefer to-"

"Solitary nature?" Riddle's eyebrows arched. "You're hardly of a solitary nature, Harry."

"And you know me so well, right?" he questioned, again, irritably. That smile broadened, dangerous.

"Perhaps not…but I'd like to get you know you better, if you'd let me."

"I won't let you," Harry said automatically, and to his shock Riddle laughed.

"Oh, and you try and convince me that you have nothing to hide…"

"Everyone has something to hide," he returned pointedly. Riddle was the biggest hider of them all - a Dark Lord in disguise.

"And yet, you seem to know far more about my secrets than I of yours," Tom said silkily. "I thought you believed in fairness!"

"All's fair in love and war," he returned, mimicking Riddle's earlier response.

Some part of him wondered how his efforts of keeping up with all Tom's retorts appeared clumsy to the other, and the even larger part wondered why he cared. The smirk fell of the Slytherin Heir's face.

"Spend the weekend with me and my associates," he stated.

"No thanks."

"Then I will take you as a coward - what, darling, are you scared that I'll figure you out?"

Harry's teeth gritted at the butchered endearment, and at his remembrance of Riddle's terms should he want the other to stop. It was so - disconcerting, unbalancing - to deal with Tom.

He kept expecting to have Voldemort shoved in his face, and while it was more than obvious that a cruelty and alarming, dangerous nature was more than present in the other boy, he wasn't seeing Voldemort.

He was seeing a dark, powerful intelligent and charismatic teenager with a tongue like razors and a surprisingly quick humour. Not Voldemort.  
It disturbed him.

He wanted to _hate _Riddle as fiercely as he did Voldemort, for the same reasons, but he couldn't. Oh, he disliked him, certainly, but it wasn't…he didn't know. Whatever. He was too tired.

He'd barely got any sleep the night before due to the freaking nightmares.

The blunt fact was though that Riddle had hit the nail of his concern on the head with a deadly, eerie accuracy. It was like the other just sensed weaknesses on another person, knowing exactly where to aim.

It was chilling.

He'd seen Riddle decimate people in the common room with the same talent. Yet, to back down would be a failure, cowardice, and it injured his Gryffindor self to be called a coward…and yet, to agree, would be to suggest he cared what Riddle thought of him.

"I'd rather choke myself," he replied coolly. The other's mouth opened immediately to strike, and he continued quickly. "If you're that desperate for my company - not that I can't understand your own desire to avoid your…associates, as _they're_ annoying and generally pathetic and dull - then you can come find me and spend the weekend with _my _associates."

Riddle had just said he found Roger and Imogen annoying, he'd never agree. Besides, neither of them were pureblood! And his followers would no doubt give him hell for it.

Tom studied him, his expression unreadable, or frozen, he didn't know.

"Where will you be?"

Harry almost blanched.

And somehow, he'd managed to get stuck into a weekend with Tom Riddle.

He wondered what Roger and Imogen would say to the new addition.

Damn it. 

* * *

A/N: This one didn't seem blocky :) Progress! I hope you enjoy it! 

Thanks for all the reviews! :D

Watching a horrible programme on cyber bullying :( Don't ever do that, okay guys?  
Apparently 1/3 people suffer from cyberbullying.

PS: Go and read Krysania's "The Fate changed, now what?" T'is awesome!


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Harry could feel a great sense of doom settle over him as he faced Imogen and Roger that morning - both had been delighted to learn they'd managed to persuade him to socialise for the weekend.

They hadn't been quite so delighted to learn that Tom Riddle would be joining them, immediately falling into a state of nervousness, though not quite as displeased as Harry would have on some part liked.

It was more than clear that despite their fear of the Slytherin Heir, they also held him in very high esteem.

It took far too little time for the young Dark Lord to sweep into their corner of the world, a charming smile flashing immediately onto his face as he greeted them all.

"Hi, I'm Tom - Tom Riddle, you must be Imogen and Roger? Pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure," Imogen whispered, looking a bit star struck.

He didn't think the Slytherin Heir had ever held more than a few words with them before. Harry's jaw clenched as Tom dropped into the seat next to him, offering him a slightly less blinding smile, eyes glittering at him tauntingly, challengingly, before he turned back to Harry's friends, his expression turning flawlessly contrite.

"I know this must be a little strange for you, but I wanted to apologise in person for the appalling conduct shown by my fellow Slytherins."

"That's okay," Roger said, looking slightly shocked at the apology. Riddle held up a hand.

"No, it's not, it was unforgivable. I can guarantee that it won't happen again."

Harry noticed the other didn't say that he _would_ guarantee it, but both Roger and Imogen seemed noticeably relieved that they weren't going to be dealt Slytherin retribution for fighting back. Harry could feel his mood already beginning to sour.

"Will you then?" he questioned innocently. Riddle's head snapped to him.

"Excuse me?"

You said you _can _guarantee it, _will_ you?"

"Well, I don't claim to control the actions of everyone around me so I can hardly guarantee it, but I'll certainly do my best…why? Do you perhaps not trust my words, darling?"

Harry sincerely wished he'd stop using those names in public. Or private, for that matter.

"Don't take it so personally," he replied, forcing his tone to be casual, good-natured on the surface. "No one ever trusts the words of a Slytherin. And I'm not your darling."

"I'll bear that in mind whenever you speak to me, cupcake."

"Don't call me cupcake either," he hissed, flushing. Tom smirked at him, his expression inoffensive to anyone who couldn't see the taunt in his eyes.

"Okay, _pet._"

Harry literally felt pained, gritting his teeth.

He had the horrible feeling that Tom was just going to keep upping the ludicrous nature and awfulness of his 'endearments' every time Harry rejected them, defied them, refused.

Heavens forbid he tried 'snookums' or 'pookie' or some other the terrible names Aunt Petunia could come up with next. He shuddered at the thought.

"Darling's fine," he muttered, grudgingly.

"You sure, baby? I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable," Riddle questioned, with a note of concern Harry just knew was utterly fake.

Roger made a slightly shocked noise in the back of his throat.

Baby - reference to being young, inexperienced, a jab at how new he was to this game and how much he was losing. His teeth gritted even further.

"Why would I be uncomfortable with you addressing me as if I was your _lover_? It fits your stalkerish personality so perfectly!" he smiled sweetly.

Riddle's eyes narrowed to slits, and Harry mentally did a victory dance.

"The interesting part," the Slytherin Heir murmured, after a moment, his expression clearing to only a sly smile. "Is that you're _letting _me call you a lover's endearments, Harrison. Is there something you haven't told me?"

Harry gaped, furious; Riddle knew perfectly well he was only allowing the names because the only way to get the other to stop was to submit, which he would _never _do!

"I'm not the stalker in this relationship."

"Oh, so we have a _relationship_ now? Steady on, darling."

Darling. He'd reverted back instead of escalating further, point to Harry, even if he did so in the thick of insinuations. Tom didn't give him the opportunity to respond, instead turning and smoothly beginning a completely different, friendly, conversation with Imogen and Roger.

Harry blinked.

All in all, it was a terrible day.

* * *

Imogen Pierce looked between the two of them, somewhat uncertain.

It was more than clear to her that whatever was between Riddle and Harrison - she couldn't believe it was nothing, not anymore at least - was escalating rapidly, and she couldn't help but be concerned for the outcome. No one lasted very long playing against Tom Riddle, especially not when he focussed his attentions so specifically on you.

Still, it was actually somewhat amusing, if you removed the no doubt disastrous consequences out of the equation.

She personally thought Riddle's use of endearments was rather funny because it was so strange for the rather remote Slytherin prefect to be saying them. It was so obvious that he was doing it just because they annoyed Harrison so visibly, and she suspected Harry knew Riddle was baiting him too, for whatever reason.

It was, all in all, an odd arrangement as she was almost certain that despite whatever history or connection they appeared to have, they weren't friends.

The tension between was too high, an anticipatory, hungry type of tension. It wasn't just on Riddle's side either, what ever their new friend tried to insist. Harry was as intent on 'winning' or whatever, she wasn't entirely sure what they were playing for or all the rules, but she could feel obsession brewing on either side.

She didn't know if they themselves had realised it yet, but they were too evenly matched right now. Harrison acted like prey, but true prey would immediately recognise Riddle as predator and either roll over or flee.

While Harry made motions in that direction in how he'd initially attempted to avoid the other, now when he wasn't or couldn't he rose instead of conceding.

It was like watching two predators turn to cannibalism - not a mere power struggle and display of dominance for the sake of anything else, but because they genuinely sought to turn their opponent into the prey and claim total victory. She shivered slightly.

That wasn't to say she necessarily thought it was a bad thing, or that Riddle was the villain Harry painted him as.

The other boy was charming, unfailingly polite (aside from his psuedo flirtatious manner to Harry, which was just funny because it bewildered Harry so much) and fiercely intelligent. He was brilliant to talk to, a very engaging and pleasant conversationalist.

She certainly would not have minded spending more time with him, regardless of the danger, and honestly didn't understand Harry's issue with the Slytherin Prefect.

Yes, he was dangerous and ruthless and cunning, but in a way that was what made his company so thrilling.

When he focussed on you, the rest of the world fell away and you felt like you were special. It didn't hurt him that he was darkly handsome either, like a model Byronic hero.

All in all, she thought it was actually a surprisingly enjoyable day.

And she told Harry so.

His enmity was ridiculous, Riddle may have been a little cruel, but from what she'd seen to day he could also be kind and courteous, sweet and gentle.

She may have misjudged him.

* * *

Harry was practically boiling, fuming, and he couldn't believe he still had another day of this tomorrow. What was even worse was that both Roger and Imogen were insisting that 'Tom' was "alright, really" and that he shouldn't "vilify him so much."

Urgh.

The infuriating thing was that he knew Tom had been playing persona's all day, charming his way in and slashing Harry's back up and support into pieces, converting his friends onto the Riddle-team.

It sickened him.

Was that what would happen to anyone he got even vaguely close to here? Riddle would either frighten them off or convert them into avid supporters, and so they thus unwittingly shoved him as a present for the Slytherin Heir, furthering whatever aim Riddle had…

His jaw clenched.

"I suppose you're feeling real smug with yourself," he spat, in the other's direction.

"Over what?" Riddle questioned mildly, glancing at him with a smile.

"Converting my friends to your little cult."

Tom gave a thoughtful hum in response.

"I'll bear in mind that you'd rather I weren't civil or pleasant to your associates."

Harry's eyes narrowed at the implicit threat - because if Tom wasn't civil or pleasant, he would be destroying people instead, acting every inch the Dark Lord.

"Stay away tomorrow. I won't have you messing with them!"

"You've got quite the hero complex there, don't you sweetheart?"

Harry growled.

"I do not have a hero complex!" he snapped. "I'm just not pure _evil!"_

"Don't be so naive. There's no such thing as good and evil-"

"-only power and those too weak to seek it?" Harry finished, in a hiss. Riddle stared at him. Harry mentally cursed. He probably shouldn't have said that.

"Now, where did you come across that saying, Harry?" the other murmured.

"Book of stupid quotes."

"Indeed." Tom's eyes fixed on him, searing into his skin, slowly coming to a stop. Harry would have continued walking, but for the hand that shot out, yanking him to a halt.

He sighed.

"You need to stop doing that."

"You need to learn to follow implicit and explicit orders, than I wouldn't have to," Riddle returned, not missing a beat.  
"Tomorrow you will be joining my associates."

Harry noticed it wasn't a question or a request this time, and bristled.

"Actually, I don't think I will," he rejected, coolly. Riddle merely smiled at him, pleasantly.

"My mistake, it seemed to be the obvious conclusion if you sought to keep me away from your own friends. I thought you might prefer to deny me the opportunity of 'messing with them' by coming to my turf, but we can continue doing it this way if you so desire. Miss Pierce seemed most pleased to see me, for sure. She could be fun."

Harry's eyes darkened.

"Leave her alone!"

"I will if I can have you instead," Tom smirked.

"_Have me_?" Harry repeated delicately. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You haven't been told that I play with people yet? I was so certain you had, people seem to have a most the effusive opinions to share on the matter."

Harry's heart was pounding. He couldn't believe Riddle was admitting this so openly, didn't he have this huge thing about keeping up his charming persona?

"Dropped the model student act entirely now have we? I expected you to last longer," he replied, goading, hoping wounding the other's pride would get him to back off on the topic.

Riddle's answering smirk was dripping with danger.

"Such masks are only valuable when people believe them, and you clearly don't. Therefore, to continue the allusion in such a private setting, when to do so no longer benefits me, would be redundant."

"Well, not playing it hardly endears you to me either," Harry returned coldly.

"Perhaps not, but nor did my mask, and so this suits our purposes. Sometimes we must be subtle, other times it is easier to get straight to the point."

"So you're just going to outright threaten me?" Harry demanded. "What are you, a Slytherin or a Gryffindor?"

Tom laughed at him, a melodic laugh that sent shivers skittering up his spine.

"Threat' is such a misleading word, darling, it indicates the possibility that I wouldn't follow through." Riddle was quiet for a moment, appraising him, before continuing to answer his second 'question.' "I am whatever suits me, Harrison, just as you are, and so, more Slytherin than all else. By your lack of refusal, I shall presume to hold your company tomorrow then."

Harry glared, venomously.

It was a consolidation of his worst thoughts; if he didn't 'play' with Riddle, than the other boy would just find some other toy to amuse him, most likely either Roger or Imogen just to spite him. Hatred burned in his veins.

He gave one last ditch attempt, frantically trying to swim through the unfamiliar waters of this game, still trying to seek out what buttons to press.

"You know, if you have to resort to force to get what you want, then you're not as brilliant as rumour claims. By all means, go and find yourself another toy, because it won't be me. You can play to your black heart's content with the knowledge that you didn't get your first choice."

There, for Riddle to play with someone else, would imply he lost. Imogen and Roger would be safe, as would everyone else. Take that!

Riddle's expression was unreadable. Harry assumed he must have done something right, and resisted the urge to hold his breath.

"Do you know how to play chess, Harry?"

"Chess?" he repeated, warily, not sure where this was going. The response appeared random. "I'm not very good."

Riddle smirked at his response, for whatever reason, before verbally pouncing.

"Manipulating different pieces on the board in order to capture the King does not end the game, capturing the King does."

Right. How was it that Riddle seemed to manage to find a way out of everything that seemed airtight? He was bloody slippery! That ruled out being able to get everyone else safe through that means...

"Are you suggesting I'm the King? I'm not certain whether to be flattered or insulted," he replied.

Tom's brow furrowed, and, just for a glorious moment, he seemed thrown by the response, for whatever reason. Maybe he didn't expect it?

"What do you mean?" the Slytherin Heir questioned. "The King is the most important piece on the board."

"Perhaps," Harry replied. "But a King will always be a King. It's the pawns you have to look out for, they have the potential to be anything."

"You view yourself as a renegade pawn instead?" Riddle was grinning now. "An unusual interpretation. Who is your King then?"

Harry could feel the beginnings of a plan forming in his head - finally! - a new strategy to combat the other.

If Riddle viewed 'capturing' him as the ultimate aim of the game, and the King as the most important piece, then if he did prove himself to only be working for another master…say, Dumbledore…the Slytherin heir would back off, furious with his own misjudgement.

Who said people only wore one mask?

He shrugged, lightly, knowing that he had to fake mystery now, make it seem like his 'spying for Dumbledore' or whatever, was what he had initially sought so hard to hide.

"Figure it out," he challenged, offering a smirk.

He walked away, feeling a curious stare boring into his back.

"You'll be joining myself and my associates tomorrow, regardless," Tom stated. "A pawn can still be pinned and taken, and, when it's caught, I'll find out for sure what you are."

"You need to stop using chess analogies," he called back, over his shoulder, for lack of other response to the rather unnerving declaration.

He heard Riddle's laughter ringing in the air behind him.

He definitely did not have to suppress a smile.

* * *

A/N: Wow, thank you for all the reviews. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much :)


	9. Chapter Eight

Harry was in a foul mood that morning, exhaustion weighing down his already low spirits.

More nightmares; a constant flash of green light burned on his eyelids, screams echoing in his ears, the cold laughter of the Death Eaters in the Graveyard and orders to 'kill the spare.' It all blurred into one, mixing to create a nightly torture to keep any hope of rest away.

He'd excused the cause of his bad dreams to be the recent slaughter that, in his cover story, was the reason he was at Hogwarts. It was plausible, and they all seemed to buy it, though it didn't stop their dark mutterings about being woken up every night.

Harry had curtly told them to put silencing charms up, as his for some reason weren't working. Prince had said it was something about the wards in Slytherin, which was just inconvenient. There was nothing to stop him screaming his nights away, unnoticed, in Gryffindor.

Oh, he wished he was in Gryffindor again, though he was used to the snake's common room now, and could even appreciate the shadows that lined it when all day was spent under the glaring light of scrutiny and public expectation.

Today would be the worst for that, for he had to spend his time with Riddle and his Death Eaters, lest he put Roger and Imogen into the firing line in his stead. He was currently seated in said common room, Riddle's inner circle and the young Dark Lord himself surrounding him.

He'd tried slipping away at breakfast, pride be damned - and, really, Riddle only went to Roger and Imogen cause he'd been there, and he'd been planning on disappearing into the Room of Requirement - but the snakes had closed around him, like a pack of wolves, herding him to where their alpha wanted him.

He'd then pulled homework out instead, hoping it would discourage them from talking to him, but Riddle and Prince had merely started discussing it with him and making him feel like an idiot with all their name-dropped theories and whatnot.

Either way, his homework had only bought him an hour of time at the most, as he did most of it when he first got it to avoid being in the common room in evenings.

So, now, he was finally forced to interact with them, brutally stripped of escape routes.

"So…" Alphard began. "Where'd you get the scar?"

"Excuse me?" Harry repeated, disbelieving that they jumped straight to that, and with the arrogant tone implying that it was their right to have him answer. He only realised, when a self-satisfied gleam crossed Riddle's eyes - opposite him - that he'd said 'excuse me' rather than 'what,' as the other had wanted. He gritted his teeth. "None of your freaking business."

"Just making conversation," Black shot him a lopsided smile, so like Sirius', except the edges of this grin was sharper, not directed with warmth and friendliness. "After all, you're being so rudely taciturn against our attempts of hospitality."

"Oh, what, having all of you _attack_ me? Forgive me," he smiled back, sweetly, "I'm not yet used to Slytherin hospitality, it seemed so much less welcoming on my side of things."

"Consider it our active interest in your wellbeing, Harrison," Abraxas murmured.

"Indeed," he replied. "Actively harmful."

"Short term loss, long term gain," Prince dismissed.

"It's interesting how you're evading the question," Riddle said, quietly. Harry snapped to attention.

"What?" and he made sure to use 'what' this time.

"How you got the scar on your forehead," the Slytherin Heir clarified. Harry shrugged.

"There's not really much to tell."

"I doubt that very much."

He glared at Riddle, only vaguely aware of the eyes of the rest of the Slytherins upon him.

"I got it from the man who killed my parents," he said, coldly.

"I'm sorry," Prince said quietly. "That must have been hard."

The others all muttered something similar, though Lestrange rolled his eyes and Riddle said nothing for a moment.

"You said your parents were killed in the recent Grindewaldian slaughters, which is why your home schooling came to an end," the young Dark Lord stated.

"Yes."

"Your scar is old."

Crap. Old. Recent.

"You an expert on such matters or something?" he asked irritably.

"Or something," Riddle murmured, eyeing him. "It seems the mystery of your heritage continues to grow…careful darling, lies that build over time have the tendency to come toppling down."

"I suppose you'd know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lestrange demanded, pouncing on him. "Are you suggesting Tom's a liar? You don't even know him!"

"He doesn't really know any of us," Prince said coolly. "And yet Mr Evans has already assumed a great dislike for our characters, so don't judge him too harshly for it, Cygnus."

"Yeah, what do you have against us anyway?" Alphard demanded. "You seem to hate us."  
Fabulous.

"I'm not wounding your egos am I?" he questioned, pulling a pout, widening his eyes. "I'm so sorry…you'll have to forgive my mistakes, I haven't quite learnt Slytherin ettiqute of shoving a stick up my arse yet."

They stared at each other, icily.

"You've avoided us from the beginning though, darling," Tom interjected, once again, smoothly. "Which would render that particular objection against our methods of welcome as invalid…that is what you are objecting to it, isn't it? The attack my associates attempted? It's perfectly understandable that you wouldn't like us…but then, you clearly had a full grasp on me within seconds of meeting me, without any attack on my part, so maybe you're just psychic, is that it?" the voice was deeply mocking at the last.

Harry switched his gaze to the Slytherin Heir again.

"You still believe I somehow know you?"

"It's not a belief," Riddle stated. "I _know _you do."

"How could I possibly know you?" Harry dismissed.

"How could you possibly make judgements on all of us before even having a full conversation?" Tom returned. "Unless you're merely a judgemental bigot yourself."

Harry's eyes narrowed.

"Guess I really am psychic," he replied.

"Nah, time traveller maybe."

Harry's blood froze, but Riddle's voice was still mocking. It was a mockery, nothing else.

"Oh, of course," he drawled, dryly. "How did you guess my supposed deep dark secret?"  
Riddle's eyes cut into his skin, intense. There was a moment of silence, thick, suffocating.

"Who are you, Harrison Evans, who are you really?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Riddle."

"You could, but you already appear to know your answer, or, at least, would like to think you do," Tom replied. "I would be more wary of misconceptions if I were you, they will inevitably lead you to a crumbling precipice."

"You're giving me a lot of warnings, Tom," he said. "I'm wondering if I should be touched by your apparent consideration for my wellbeing."

"And you're not heeding any of them," the Slytherin Heir returned, with that dangerous sparkle in his eye. "Which makes me wonder if you want to fall."

"That would be ridiculous-" Harry began.

"Is it?" Riddle questioned softly, leaning forwards. "You've made many assessments upon my persona, perhaps you would like to hear a few about your own?"

"By all means," Harry returned, rolling his eyes, his stomach coiled tightly with tension. "Impress me."

He didn't shift his gaze away, and was only somewhat aware now that the Slytherins were shifting uncomfortably around them, or too still, watching, daring not interfere. A smirk graced the other's lips, dangerous, as he started his 'analysis.'

"I think that, for whatever reason, you've spent a lot of time catering to what society wants from you, raised on a pedestal of their expectations, be they good or bad, and, thus, guiltily, you find this situation freeing as you are not tied by any past experiences."

Harry stiffened, despite himself, and Riddle's smirk broadened, and he leaned forwards across the space between them, continuing softly.

"You're desperate for freedom, and freedom only comes when you've fallen from the pedestal, leaving you able to walk more than the few square inches of gold that is allowed to you. Now, some people like being on the pedestal, viewed as Gods-"

"-Like you?" Harry goaded, but Riddle only smirked at him again, continuing once more.

"-but you don't. You're a danger addict, sweetheart, and, thus, much better suited for the shadows."

"I'm not a danger addict."

"You wouldn't be here with me if you weren't. But, that leads me to my second observation: denial. Said pedestal and expectations have ingrained denial into your very blood - denial of your dark side and your own self in its full capacity, and so, denial about what you want. You said that if you wanted to fall, you'd jump, but someone will only jump when they're certain the abyss is where they want to go. You're denial impedes you from realising your own desires, and, hence, you subconsciously dance along your precipice, daring the monsters in the darkness to tug you down, painted shiny for a magpie's taking…because then you can maintain your delusion that you never wanted this, and instead blame the shadows which stole you away."

Harry blinked.

"You have an awfully high opinion of yourself," he replied.

"Excuse me?" Riddle's eyebrows raised.

"Magpies steal shiny things until they're no longer shiny, like you play with your toys until they're broken…and monsters in the darkness? Not your most subtle allusion, Dark Lord."

There was a sudden, sharp, intake of breath around them and Harry crashed back down to earth abruptly.

Oh crap.

He'd just outright accused Tom of being a Dark Lord! It didn't matter that he was, Harry wasn't supposed to know that! He'd just got so caught up in the flow of response, that somewhere along the line he'd forgotten Riddle didn't actually know him as well as the certainty in his voice suggested, or as well as he knew Riddle.

He rose from his seat, painfully aware of the ringing silence.

Riddle's hand shot out as he passed him, yanking him gracefully down onto his armchair, arms wrapping around his torso in twisted embrace. Under the incredulous gaping - however discreet they tried to make it - of the rest of Riddle's inner circle, Harry flushed furiously, far too aware of Tom's chin resting on his shoulder, breath on the shell of his ear.

"I'm not finished, Harry," the other chided.

His entire body was rigid.

"I _am_, get off me-"

"-you run when things get too heated for you, when people hit too close for comfort, consolidating your tendency towards denial, which leads to point three. Point three; only prey run away, suggesting you're feeling rather like prey right now - have another warning, just because I'm feeling generous, in Slytherin, you don't want to come across as prey because it makes the predators attack you. However, that you're feeling like prey, implies that I'm right so far in my observations."

Harry could not believe he was doing this in front of the other Slytherins, it was like punishment, utterly humiliating, payback for challenging him so publicly.

"Point four…if you were truly prey you would have attempted to bolster a fierce, powerful reputation for yourself, like some butterflies have patterns like eyes upon their wings to make them seem bigger than they are. You did the opposite, pretending to be weak. You have a conflicting personality. You're in flux, and while that could be attributed to the traumatic experiences that led you to be here, I'm curious as to what those experiences are. You lied about your scar, you lied about the extent of your abilities, so what else have you lied about? Your entire story? Your name? If your identity was fake it would explain why you're in personality flux, as your torn between who you are, who you pretended to be, and the role you're playing now."

Riddle's talons uncurled from around him, shoving him back towards the centre of their circle. A quick flick of his gaze noted the others all had their wand peeking from their sleeves, angled in his direction.

In case he tried to run, he realised. Apparently, in Slytherin, no one left until Riddle wanted them to.  
He'd have to do something about that.

"So, did I impress you, _darling?" _Riddle questioned, after a moment.

Shit.

He frantically thought; for a comeback, for anything to say.

"Yeah, you can consider me impressed," he shrugged, "…with your continued display of stalking skills. Seriously, did you take a class? Or are you just naturally a creep?"

"I took a class," the other deadpanned. "Stalking 101. It was quite popular - lots of teenage fangirls clutching their witch weekly smile award posters."

Harry snorted.  
Riddle smirked at him, but there was still a danger in his gaze.

Harry's mind drifted back to eerie conclusion of point four.

"Everyone's torn between who they are, who they want to be, and what other people think they are, you can't attribute that to me alone."

"But I can attribute it to you?" Riddle questioned, eyebrows arched. "Thank you for the confirmation."

Harry mentally cursed.

The games continued.

* * *

Tom kept his eyes lazily fixed on the boy before him, trapped between them, hemmed in, with all escape routes, blocked.

He knew his followers didn't understand why he was quite so interested in the boy, but he thought they were beginning to, after today, after watching Harry's responses to him.

He knew the other was uncomfortable with it, but, for now, he wanted it to be public so his Slytherins knew exactly what Evans was capable of, how strong he was.

It would have a far greater impact if they knew what he managed to, inevitably, crush the boy from. He wanted them to be able to see what he he'd caught, and the effect of his dominion.

It was no fun if they just assumed there was no challenge involved, no game, and they would only question his investment. It didn't need to be a repeated thing, but, at least once, at least now, they'd needed to see Harry for what he was, to prevent any misconceptions or doubts later.

Those defiant eyes had taken on a vaguely trapped glow, but only burned fiercer for it, wild, like a caged animal.

Harry was slippery, he'd give him that, but Tom - while only joking about 'stalker' classes in the definition the other was using, was well practised and talented in the more predatory connotation of the word.

He knew how to catch his quarry, and how to toy with it, when to toy and when to strike and when to tighten his webs and coils simply to thwart escape. And this was better than most, because he hadn't been lying when he said Harry wasn't merely prey, there was a natural predator, dominant streak to his newest snake.

Harry was an alpha too, however hidden that element of his personality was by circumstance.

It was so much more fun.

He'd always clearly been in charge with all his other toys - they'd pursued him, but in the manner that some animals flaunted themselves to catch the attention of the best partner available. No one clashed with him quite like Harry did. It was exhilarating.

He was certain he would reach the end of the other's endurance soon enough, but, for now, he was somewhat content in this game, and in finding out his answers. He would find them.

It was only a matter of time.

No one had ever beaten him, and Harrison would not be the first.  
Besides, he had so many questions...

How did Harry assert that he was a Dark Lord? How much did he know? How did he know?  
Who was he? And where was the scar really from?

It was time to push a bit harder.

* * *

_A/N: Well, here you go :) I hope you liked. Thanks for the reviews :)_  
_I'm sorry if it feels like nothings happening, they are making progress, but it would, I feel, be unrealistic if they suddenly knew everything. Sorry if it just feels like more of the same._

_I'm looking forward to Tom finding stuff out too!_

_PS: Loveless; have you considered writing your own Tom and Harry fanfiction? You clearly have the ideas and the potential, and fanfiction is all about seeing text and having your own ideas bounce off it. :)_


	10. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine:

Harry subtly wrapped his fingers around his own wand handle - he didn't expect to be able to come out victorious, but he sure as hell wasn't going to roll over and not fight at all if it came to that! Riddle was studying him, lazily, eyes intent, like a coiled serpent just waiting to strike.

"So, my dear, how about the truth?" he asked, after a while. Harry forced himself to remain expressionless, though it was exceedingly difficult not to clench his teeth or fists.

"So, arsehole, how about minding your own business?" he returned coldly. "I _am _telling the truth, besides."

"If you're telling the truth…why do you care so much for hiding?" Riddle questioned. "You should have nothing to hide, if, by your claims, you are 'nothing,' ordinary, mediocre."

"Even ordinary people have their ordinary secrets, and ordinary desires for this thing called privacy…have you ever heard of it?"

"You admit you have secrets then," Riddle said, eyes gleaming. Harry's jaw tightened with exasperation.

"Don't we all; I dare say you have your fair share. Why don't you tell to the class, Tom? Come now, prefect, lead by example," he taunted. Tom's head tilted back.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," the other smirked. "A secret for a secret? You first, mind."

"Why should I?" Harry raised his brows, thinking fast, not liking the feeling of getting trapped into a corner again, like a bug for inspection beneath a microscope. "Clearly I lose nothing from my silence, and you care more about my life than I do of yours."

"Because," Tom smiled. "I'll take refusal to…ah, play, as forfeit and simply take the knowledge out of your pretty little head."

The wands around him pointed directly at him now, at a small gesture from Riddle, who continued to survey him, calmly, a pleasant smile upon his face.

"What's it to be, darling? You gain nothing from silence, either."

Harry's fists clenched, and he flicked his gaze around, silently considering whether he could take them all and Riddle on at not. Maybe without Riddle there, he could. But not with Riddle. How could Riddle take anything out of his head?

He decided to ask.

"A mind art called Legilimency," Riddle replied promptly. "Your turn. What are you hiding?"

Shit. That was _not _fair, he hadn't agreed to 'play,' and, if he had, he certainly wouldn't have asked such a trivial question.

And yet…it implied Riddle really could simply read his mind if he got bored playing, if Harry refused and forfeiting the game.

The young Dark Lord was easily bored, he wanted something to do, a challenge? It was the challenge that was keeping him from simply doing this the easy way.

Harry needed to somehow be interesting, interesting and a good enough opponent that Riddle played the game rather than merely taking what he wanted.

He thought frantically for anything that could buy him time, give him time to slip out of this, escape.

"If I'm playing," he replied, after a moment. "I'll play with you, not them. Unless, of course, you're feeling threatened and are overcompensating? In which case, I dare say I'm flattered that you're too scared to deal with me without four little lackey's to hold your hand."

Riddle's lips curled upwards slightly, but he tilted his head at his Death Eaters after a moment, indicating for them to make themselves scarce.

They did so without question, though Lestrange shot him a resentful look.

Harry swallowed, somehow not feeling as relieved as he should have been with them gone. There were no witnesses now, and he highly doubted Riddle's pets would let anyone in to interfere either…or let anyone out.

He took a discreet, steadying breath, forcing his posture to relax, trying to seem nonchalant, placing his hands in his pockets - around his wand more firmly, and to hide how they wanted to shake with nerves.

"Would you like me to repeat the question?" Tom asked, innocently.

"I'm hiding everything I don't want people to know," he said, carefully.

Riddle's eyebrows arched at the non answer, before he rose from his seat, circling him, examining him. He followed the other with his eyes, but didn't turn, not allowing himself the weakness.

He thought, for a question to ruffle the other, to cause the other to back off, hopefully without highlighting how much he already knew. And, yet, he didn't want to trade useless information by asking about what he already knew.

"You have plans, regarding me, what are they?"

Riddle stopped behind him, probably doing it deliberately to unnerve him, and Harry could hear the smirk in his voice.

"I simply want to get to know you better, sweetheart."

Harry scowled, looking for a translation…find out his secrets? Probably. Not going to happen, not with anything important.

He realised that neither of them were actually going to be directly answering questions, the information in this game was about reading between the lines, sifting through vague ambiguities and prying for any slip ups or revealing changes in expression.

"How do you know me?" Tom questioned, circling to stand in front of him once more, eyes locked upon his.

"I share a dorm with you, Dippet introduced us, you were there, I believe."

The next second, the air had grown frigid, darkening considerably and…hissing. The snakes around the common room were coming alive, animating from the stone walls, descending down, looping around them.

His eyes widened.

Riddle didn't need Death Eaters to point wands, every surface in the house of serpents was a weapon to a Parseltongue.

Like him.

Except, unfortunately, he couldn't actually use that particular talent right now without admitting to it…which would not be good.

"I'll try that again," Riddle murmured, seemingly not wanting to play 'read between the lines.' Impatient. Or was he just escalating from mere verbal sparring to add another layer onto the interrogation, more pushy? "How do _know _me so well, you knew my name within seconds of meeting me, how?"

The snakes coiled closer, looking ready to lash out. Harry would have moved away from them, but, frankly, they were everywhere. Slytherin had put a lot of snake engravings into columns, walls and borders and fireplaces and the wooden legs of sofas and armchairs.

"I answered your question already," he replied, evenly, keeping his gaze on the other. "It's not your turn…although, you could always forfeit yourself…"

Riddle's expression was carved from ice, frosty and deadly and smooth as glass, but he merely made a gesture with his hand for Harry to make his move.

He was tempted to ask 'are you a fast runner?' before legging it, but he didn't trust the snakes around the room, and Riddle would catch up with him eventually.

Besides, the lackey's were probably outside, no doubt ready to block his passage. He smirked, lighting on the perfect question.

"What is your most guarded secret?"

To his shock, Riddle smirked back at that, moving closer to him, and Harry automatically moved back, only for his knees to hit the sofa behind him.

The sofa with snakes.

He immediately realised that Riddle had anticipated the move - and clearly, he was going to have to learn not to recoil from the other's close proximity or touch, as the Slytherin Heir merely manipulated it - because the snakes wrapped around his calves, yanking him off balance so he fell to sitting on the sofa, and two others immediately circled his arms, pulling them, and his wand, from his pockets.

He eyed them, suddenly wishing Riddle knew he was a Parselmouth, so hiding it wasn't an issue, but made no movement.

The hissed, excitedly, around him, a horrible sensation against the material of his trousers and shirt. Tom loomed over him, leaning down, arms resting on the back of the sofa either side of Harry's shoulders, effectively caging him.

"Wasted question, _Harrison, _as you seems to have already guessed it."

Lips moved, mockingly, to his ear in an imitation of children's secret-sharing.

"I am not what I appear."

Right. Of course. That was the reason for the whole model student act, wasn't it? Riddle's constant masking of his true nature, of the Dark Lord. The dark side Harry knew full well was there.

It _was _a wasted question - it had just seemed so foolproof at the time! Now would really be a good time for his luck to begin again and allow him to escape.

"So, how did you know me so well as to know my name within seconds of meeting me?"

Harry's heart stopped, he couldn't afford to not answer, but…oh. Brilliant. He smirked, triumphant.

"Your reputation precedes you."

There. An answer, a truth, but it revealed nothing Riddle didn't already suspect and answered nothing.

The other studied him in silence for a minute, eyes doing sparkling, though whether that was good or not, Harry wasn't sure.

The air between them was thick with tension. After a while, the other smiled, not particularly nicely.

"You're strange, Harry, _different. _I tell you I'm a Dark Lord, and you, tied up in snakes that you've no doubt heard I can control, continue to defy me. Who are you? What are you?"

Harry stayed silent, not really sure how to even think about countering such a statement. Tom stared back. Harry was amazed he hadn't gone for his wand yet - Voldemort would have, and Tom was Voldemort…wasn't he?

After a moment, Riddle drew his wand with a mocking sigh.

"I suppose that's a forfeit then."

Oh, he hadn't realised that was actually a question, not a rhetorical musing. Damn it.

"I am what I am," he replied, quickly. "More patient than you, it seems. Why do you want to know me?"

Riddle's wand stilled again, satiated. Harry's appraised the other cautiously.

Games.

Challenges.

Riddle loved them, thrived on them, it was the only thing that kept him at bay from simply striking in immediately for fatal wounds. Tom loved the hunt, a true predator.

He'd already kind of established that.

He just didn't know what constituted as a challenge or not, he didn't know how to be…challenging.

"Knowledge is power," Riddle replied smoothly.  
Power. Riddle wanted power over him. It was the submission thing again.

As much as he loved the challenge, Tom didn't tolerate threats to his person and his empire. How…paradoxical.

Riddle studied him for a moment, thoughtfully, and the wand swooped up, idly, tracing up the line of his cheek to brush his fringe aside.

"What's the story behind the scar?"

Harry immediately felt uneasy, and he didn't know why, this was one of the easier questions to answer. Then he realised it was the wand.

It was…the hand holding the wand, so close to the cursed lightning bolt. The hand that had caused it. It was giving him a headache.

It wasn't the agony of Voldemort, but it was there, nonetheless, and Tom wasn't actually physically touching him yet. He shifted his head away, physically unable to help himself as the aching pressure seemed to build around the scar, intensifying, starting to actually hurt, as if his head was going to explode.

"Freak accident," he said, quickly, hoping to move on, his mind spinning.

It was an accident, Voldemort had meant to kill him, and it was freak because you weren't supposed to survive the killing curse. It reacted to Voldemort…why? It reacted to Tom…even more why?

"What do I have to do to get you to leave me alone permanently?" he asked, abruptly.

But Riddle's gaze had shifted, upon the scar now, his head tilting to one side.

"You weren't so uncomfortable before," the other noted. "It's the curse scar. There's more to it. You," Riddle crouched to put them on eye level, seizing his jaw with his free hand, inspecting closer. "You're in _pain."_

How on earth did Riddle know that?

Harry shifted back as Riddle let his wand drop on the sofa where Harry's wand lay, a few inches away from his snake limited hands...and Riddle seemed to have a slight obsession with physically preventing his movement…pinning him down, using snakes as ropes…why?

It was…a power play. Riddle had picked up on his dislike of his touch, and had also picked up in his hatred of not being able to move very well.

It reminded him of the graveyard, being tied to the headstone…or in the room with Quirrel and the mirror. He'd been somewhat tied up there too.

It was a threat eliminated, he supposed, the physical threat. It allowed Riddle to toy with his mind without needing to pay attention against getting punched in the face or whatnot, or duelled. It limited the board down, and increased his opponents vulnerability while improving the Slytherin Heir's own position. R

iddle's hand caught his face, brushing his fringe aside. His body locked with tension.

"Don't-" he began.  
The pain exploded.

* * *

Tom's hand shot back as a strange sensation buzzed through his fingers, tugging painfully at something inside him, pushing him back and pulling him all at once.

He staggered back as Harry's magic swelled, shoving him back. Violent, raw power. His breath hitched at the suddenness of it, the _power. _

So much, hidden power.

Blood. The scar was bleeding. He…that was not normal. It…his thoughts were scrambled.

"A curse scar," he whispered. "That's a curse scar. A dark one. One that….reacts to me. How on earth do you have a curse scar like that?" he demanded.

Harry glared at him, fire in his eyes, teeth gritted, the magic settling back to something more like what he was used to. He stared at the boy in shock.

He didn't know what he'd expected to lie beneath the layers upon layers of deception, he didn't even know why Harry knew him, but…this was…he was confused. He didn't know. He didn't like not knowing.

There was something far bigger at work here. He was starting to wonder what he'd got himself into, and yet, he'd never felt so…exhilarated.

Harry was actually _dangerous, _playing with him was truly a challenge, cause he wasn't just playing with him as a toy, they were _both _playing. It was…different. New.

He actually had a genuine opponent!

"I don't believe it's your question," Harry replied, infuriatingly. Tom abruptly wondered why he thought being constantly challenged was a good thing.

He stepped forwards, menacingly, deliberately. He shouldn't push, but….pushing was what he did best. Push and pull.

"Why do you have a curse scar linked to me?" he repeated, softly, his mind racing. Was this how Harry knew him? Except, how could he…Tom had never met him. He would _remember _meeting Harry.

"Remove your snakes, your repetition is starting to bore me," Harry replied, rolling his eyes, dismissively.

He lunged forwards, fingers fisting in the boy's hair to bare his throat, and he let his other hand hover above the curse scar. Harry stiffened.

"Why do you have a curse scar linked to me?" he whispered, again. He let his fingers descend when no answer was forthcoming.

Harry twisted in his grip, trying to squirm away from the incoming pain. The pain he could cause just by touch….did Harry know? Was that why he flinched? Or was it something else?

"You bastard, don't you dare-" Harry started, snarling.

"_Why is your curse scar linked to me!" _he demanded, for what they both knew was for the last time, barely managing to stay in English.

And then the Common Room Door swung open.

* * *

The snakes reverted back to their positions instantly, and Harry immediately straightened his posture to something casual, as did Tom, and magic swept across his face, any trace of blood from his features.

They stared at the door.

Harry's heart was pounding madly in his chest, and he was suddenly hyperaware of the boy standing so close to him that he could feel the heat searing off his skin.

Horace Slughorn: potion's professor, head of Slytherin House.

Tom's mask had snapped on flawlessly, a second skin.

"Professor? Is something the matter?" he asked. Horace looked between the two of them, for a moment, with a vaguely distracted air, brow furrowed.

Harry looked down at himself, confused, but could see nothing that would cause such scrutiny.

"I-Mr Evans, the Headmaster and Professor Dumbledore wish to see you in the Headmaster's office," the man huffed, seemingly disgruntled to have become a post owl. "Now."

Harry stood, disconcerted, not needing to glance to the side to know dark eyes were fixed on the side of his face.

"Of course," he murmured. "Thank you, sir."

"I'll see you later, Harry," Riddle called, smilingly, at his back. Fully aware of Slughorn being present, Harry merely offered a tight smile.

This just kept getting worse.

It was Halloween in three weeks.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for the reviews :) I hope you enjoy this one as much as the last!  
And...guess what, there's progress :P

PS: SHockingly enough, I have actually written a DD slash piece...would any of you be interested in my posting it? Note, this does not mean any of my stories are becoming slash, they won't be, non slash is my thing and I like it like that, but, yeah, for a onshot...?


	11. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten:

Harry shut the door to the Headmaster's Office carefully behind him, angrily trying to refrain from slamming it.

Apparently, he was unlikely to get home any time soon, because Time itself had hardly been studied - they didn't even have Time Turners yet! - and the best, discreet minds of the field could take years to solve his 'problem.'

He refused to believe he was stuck here though, for any significant length of time. If the adults couldn't find a way to help him, he'd do it himself. It wouldn't be the first time.

Urgh, this was so infuriating! He hated it here! And he hated Tom Riddle most of all…Tom Riddle who was most likely waiting to pick up where they had left off…he shivered.

He'd never felt quite so vulnerable, not even around Voldemort or Dudley's gang as a kid.

With Voldemort, he'd always known quite clearly the danger he was in, and after the first time he'd kind of known what to expect and he could fight to full capacity - normally in some sort of duel or battle.

Tom was…different.

The danger was there, evidently, but layered beneath a charm that sucked you in like a black hole, ready to tear you and crush you into a million pieces and obliterate you.

Dudley's Gang, he'd also known what to expect, but there was little long-term chance of success as he lived with the moron and so, Dudley would always catch up with him eventually, especially as he had all the support. Yet, with Dudley's gang, they was slow and stupid.

With Tom, he again pretty much lived with the bastard, sharing a dorm and classes, so permanent escape was highly limited, and Tom was neither slow nor stupid. Hell, he was fast and probably infinitely more clever than Harry was.

The only advantage he had was knowledge; he knew more about Riddle than Riddle knew about him, and the Slytherin Heir was slowly working to steal that away from him too with his incessant prying.

He was so screwed.

He needed to find a way to diffuse the situation, and quickly. He needed a plan. He needed time to concoct a plan.

He would stay in the Room of Requirement for the n-crap.

_That wasn't fair._

"What are you doing out the common room?" he demanded, infuriated. Riddle was the picture of innocence, but for the lazy threat and menace entrapped in his eyes and stance.

"I'm a prefect…I have prefect rounds."

"Outside the dungeons?" he questioned sceptically. Riddle merely smiled at him.

"Miss McGonnagal of Gryffindor was preoccupied, and I offered my assistance."

McGonnagal? Not his head of House McGonnagal? But- of course. Wow. His eyes narrowed.

"What did you do to her?"

Riddle merely blinked at him, pressing a hand to his chest.

"Such suspicion, Harry, I'm wounded."

"I'm sure you'll survive," he said dryly. "It's not like you have a heart for my barbs to strike."

"Thankfully," the other replied immediately. "For otherwise it would surely be broken. Don't you like me, darling?"

"Give me a second, I don't think you'd appreciate the response on the tip of my tongue right now."

"Since when has that stopped you? My, I guess you're desperate for my approval after all."

"Oh of course," Harry snapped, "in your dreams!"

He stopped, realising they'd been inching closer to each other during their conversation, and abruptly circled to both get past and keep a more healthy distance between them.

Riddle's eyes tracked his movements hungrily.

There was no way Harry was giving up the Room of Requirement as a hiding place and sanctuary, not now. He'd go to Slytherin, and get into his heavily warded bed while Riddle was doing his "prefect rounds." Or, even better, make it look like he was heading to the Common Room, then backtrack to the Room of Requirement.

Riddle simply smiled again.

"Get some rest, you'll need your strength," the other replied silkily. Harry's jaw clenched further.

"You too, _Tom, _you too," he said airily. He walked away, trying to appear utterly nonchalant.

A hand caught his shoulder, firmly, and he nearly pulled his wand out. Yet, in this scenario, such a reaction would be a failure and only inviting the confrontation he sought to avoid.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Make sure to go _straight _to the Common Room, I'd so hate to see you caught out after curfew…the professor's might become rather less accommodating to a troublemaker."

Harry ripped his shoulder away, gaze hard, whirling to face the other, furiously.

"Must be inconvenient for them to find out about _your _exploits then-"

"-My, my, golden boy, are you attempting to blackmail me?" Riddle smirked. "That's…_adorable_. I assure you, you'd never manage it."

"Oh, you don't think our encounters might prove interesting to Professor Dumbledore? He doesn't seem too fond of you, does he?"

"Perhaps, but you won't go to Dumbledore."

Harry stared; Tom sounded so certain. The Slytherin Heir's smirk broadened, with a deadly gleam of white teeth showing through his crimson lips.

"If you were going to involve someone else, you would have done so by now, when I first began 'stalking' you. It's not in your nature to accept help."

"How do you know?" Harry challenged. Tom arched his brows.

"Harry, you sleep under silencing charms, rather regularly if your initial surprise at how they weren't working for you was anything to go by. You don't share your problems."

Damn it.

"I'm sure I could make an exception just to spite you."

"I'm sure you could," Riddle agreed pleasantly. "But you won't."

Tom approached him again, and, this time, he resolutely stood his ground. They stopped with barely over a foot between them. "I know hatred intimately well, hero. Yours is _personal, _and it _blinds_ you.I don't know what I've done to you, or what your problem is, but you can rest assured that I _will _find out."

"My problem?" Harry returned, coldly. "My problem is that you don't know when to mind your own damn business!"

"Oh, but I am minding my _own _damn business, aren't I, sweetheart?" Tom said, voice low. "We just covered that with this being somehow personal. Do try and keep up."

The other studied him, eyes ablaze. Harry stared back, warily.

He'd expected Tom to pretty much jump his mind with his legiliwhatsit's the second they met again, but this…this he didn't expect. What was Riddle up to?

"If you're that curious about me, how come you haven't used your mind arts on me yet?" he asked.

"Because I'm easily bored, and you're not going anywhere," Tom replied simply. "Why are you involved with Professor Dumbledore?"

And Harry remembered his plan again with startling clarity, forcing wariness into his eyes - not that he had to try particularly hard on that account, around this boy.

"Involved?" he asked, quickly, knowing full well it was too quick. "What do you mean involved? Why would I be in anyway associated with Dumbledore?"

Tom's gaze sharpened.

"Sounds like you might be."

"Sounds like you're deluded," he replied. He couldn't give in too fast. It was too much of a personality shift. He stepped back, knowing Riddle would push, follow. Indeed, he did, and on one level it felt so amazing to be doing the manipulating and not just being the manipulated for once. "Back to the common room you say?" he continued hastily. "I'll just be on my way there then, you have your rounds to complete-"

"Dumbledore," Tom stated, in an incredulous, disgusted murmur. "Dumbledore is your _king?" _

Harry shifted, as if to betray panic.

"No! Don't be absurd-bye-"

Hands lunged for his upper arms, holding him locked in place, studying him, head tilted.

"No…no that can't be right. You're acting all wrong for a spy, a spy would be trying to get closer, not back away…" Tom seemed to be muttering more to himself now, his grip painfully tight, no doubt bruising.

"Exactly," Harry said, trying for an expression of subtle relief. "That wouldn't make sense-"

"-Except my love of playing with people and the chase isn't exactly hidden from the man," Tom continued, gaze piercing. "Everything about you draws me in…you're like jail bait."

Harry's brow furrowed. Now that was just-

"But then," Tom countered himself, "Dumbledore doesn't know me half as well as he thinks he does; though he may have more awareness of my character than most, he certainly doesn't know me so well as to create you so flawlessly, and he can hardly orchestrate all your responses…no, it's _you_ who's interesting, not his portrayal of you…Dumbledore may be your king, but you're your own man…the pawn who could be anything."

"So now you know," Harry said, quietly, angling his posture as if ready for fight or flight, muscles bunching beneath slender fingers. "And you should also know that my loyalty will _always_ be to the light."

Tom hummed, not looking as put out as Harry had hoped, nor as disinterested in working out the mystery.

"And I said you wanted to fall," the other stated, but the tint to his eyes suggested that was only a throwaway observation, gaze probing at something deeper. "Your hatred is personal," Tom repeated, softly. "That's not manufactured by Dumbledore…nice try though, darling."

He was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Harry couldn't deny it.

The way the young Dark Lord's mind worked was incredible…it made him wonder what had happened to make him Voldemort.

But he was already Voldemort. Wasn't he? He didn't know anymore, and it scared him.  
Of course Tom was Voldemort. Tom Marvolo Riddle. I am Lord Voldemort. Tom could be nothing else. He'd even admitted to being the Dark Lord. And Tom being a genius prodigy really didn't help when he had something to hide.

"Nice try?" he questioned. It seemed to snap Tom back to attention.

"Making me believe your spy connection to Dumbledore was what you were hiding, I'll admit, it almost worked, but for the…hate in your eyes. So, so _personal. _Do you really hate me that much?"

Why did Harry suddenly feel…guilty. This was utterly ridiculous!

"You have your prefect rounds to complete," he reminded.

"Or do you hate that you don't hate me as much as you feel you should?" Tom pressed, intently staring at him.

Harry didn't know if the question was rhetorical or not, but didn't answer either way, and he didn't want to. It was far too uncomfortable a query.

This really wasn't going as he planned. He'd expected confrontation and attacks…not this. In a way, it was an attack, a different type of one.

"You're an enigma, Harrison Evans," Tom murmured, "and regardless of what side you're on, I will enjoy figuring you out."

And with that, Harry realised he had to get a grip, however confusing or surprising Tom Riddle was, he couldn't afford to let the other find out his secrets about the future.

There was more to this than just the two of them, more even then that this boy grew up to murder his parents…in the scheme of things, he didn't matter. And it didn't matter if Tom Riddle maybe wasn't a carbon copy of Voldemort either, Tom Riddle could not discover the future.

"Misconceptions," he stated, after a moment. Tom's eyebrows arched in question. Harry clarified.

"You have this misconception that I'm someone interesting…special, whatever, and it infuriates you to be wrong as so you keep trying to justify it with some conspiracy that's larger than it actually is. I'm just the new kid, Riddle. Nothing more, nothing less, and life isn't a detective story that you should try and make it more than that, however bored you are. You want me to be interesting, you've got into your head that I am - and I suppose that's partially my fault for not acting like one of your slavering fans - but it's a misconception. You're fabricating me. That's why I'm flawless, Tom, you're creating an image of what you want and projecting it onto me because I'm there and something you haven't broken yet."

Tom stared at him.

"Or you could be desperately trying to keep me away from your secrets," he replied. Harry arched his brows.

"Or I could just be telling you the truth, and trying to spare you the disappointment of discovering that I'm ordinary, just like everyone else."

Tom's eyes had darkened now, dangerous. The air around them was growing heavy. Whatever the Slytherin Heir was outwardly saying, on some level, he must have been starting to doubt it or otherwise he wouldn't be annoyed.

"The curse scar-" Tom began.

"-Designed by Dumbledore to get your attention. I was talking about it with him just now."

"No."

"_Yes. _He's clever, Tom, even cleverer than you-" and why did he suddenly have to urge to doubt that? "-he knows how to fake the affects."

"You were in pain."

"Sacrifices must be made. Sometimes we all have to choose between what is right and what is easy." He threw a Dumbledore-quote in there for good measure, trying to consolidate the connection between him and the Transfigurations Professor.

Tom's eyes were narrowed to slits.

"Then why would you be admitting to the deception now? Seems redundant."

"Because you're not what I thought you were," Harry said, "and so my battle is not with you. I have better things to be doing."

"Like what?" Tom questioned, folding his arms. "I don't believe you. You're hiding something. This is just you trying to throw me off."

Damn, he was good.

"You don't believe I have better things to be doing than entertaining you? Wow, aren't you a narcissist," Harry replied dryly, before sighing. "I'm telling the truth-"

"-the truth?" Riddle laughed, coldly. "I highly doubt that. You've done nothing but lie since you've got here…now, even if you do tell the truth, I won't believe you, boy who cries wolf."

"Then that's your mistake, not mine," Harry said, evenly. "And I would have thought you too much a perfectionist to make such an obvious mistake. You talk about my hatred blinding me, your own desires blind you. Like I said, you're fabricating me."

"Then by that standard, I should be your God and King, not Dumbledore," Tom replied, seeming to compose himself, smirking. "After all, if I created you than surely you're mine."

Harry immediately felt his temper rise.

"I am not yours and never will be you arrogant git! I'm my own person! I don't belong to anyone-"

"Not even Dumbledore?" Riddle drawled, slyly. "And there was me thinking he was your King."

Shit.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, knowing full well he'd just been trapped by his own words again, his own rage. Tom smirked at him, practically purring his words.

"So personal, so _emotional_, darling. Wearing your heart on your sleeve will only allow the vultures to peck and steal it for their own perusal."

Harry stared back, flatly, no longer gaining any sense of amusement from this conversation.

He was too inexperienced, he couldn't play Riddle on his own field like this, and Riddle wouldn't play on his. He needed to find his own style; somewhere between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and coax Riddle out towards it so he could beat him fair and square.

Manipulations…he couldn't manipulate like this, he didn't know which buttons to press, he'd spent too long among the lions where threats and games were played on an open arena, away from the cover of half-truths and subtleties.

It didn't help that Riddle could play without limitation, when by the very nature of the game Harry was tied to hold his secrets and talents to himself. Bizzarely, the more Tom won the more Harry could fight back.

He wanted to wipe the smug smirk off Tom's face so very, very much. It was maddening.

"I can be loyal to someone without them owning me-" he began, trying to rectify the disastrous effects of his unthinking temper.

"-Not with light and dark, you belong to either one or the other. You cannot have an affinity for both."

He was dying to say that 'you supposedly can't survive the killing curse either, but I seem to have managed it.'

"Well, then there must be something wrong with the system, as I'm light, and the teenaged dark lord seems obsessed with me," he replied instead, irritably. "Do you know how I can fix that flaw in the universe?"

For the first time, Tom seemed genuinely and visibly surprised.

"You - light? Who told you that?"

Harry stared back, unnerved. He was _light. _Sure, he could speak Parseltongue, but, essentially, he was light. Tom's head tilted.

"Do you actually know what the difference is between light and dark?" the Slytherin Heir questioned, suddenly soft again.

Harry wondered, for the thousandth time, why he wasn't walking away, allowing himself to get drawn into conversation, and why Riddle wasn't continuing on his prefect rounds.

It was as if they were just there, on the spot, frozen, as if all the world had fallen away, time stopped but for the two of them and it was…exhilarating.

That, more than anything else, more than Tom Riddle not being a carbon copy of Voldemort, _terrified _him. He couldn't…enjoy the other's company, let the Slytherin creep under his skin like this, like no one else ever had.

It was just…hard.

He realised, disgustedly, that Riddle was right. He was too emotionally and personally invested in the other, in one way or another. He was _fascinated. _

Time to let it end.

Winning the game aside, getting a grip and coming out victorious, was still giving Riddle what he wanted. A challenge, a game, an opportunity to find out what he wanted. This whole conversation was just another allure and tactic to pin him down to be dissected.

He pulled away, nearly sprinting down the corridor.

Yes, time to let it end.

He would just find a way home, no game, no power play.

Riddle couldn't play against himself…

* * *

Tom stared at the retreating figure, before continuing on his rounds, deep in his thought. He'd assumed Harry to be aware of the game and aware of _everything_, because he played so well and seemed to know so much…but he…wasn't.

He didn't know why that struck him so hard.

Harry was fighting, but he didn't even know what he was fighting for.

He truly had, up until this point, somehow, been a pawn. He couldn't imagine it. He'd guessed Harry had spent a lot of time glorified or vindicated on a pedestal, but, somehow…he hadn't quite thought through all the ramifications of that. His brow furrowed.

He needed to change this game of cat and mouse, if he wanted to win. If he wanted to find something out.

Harry was too…distracting. He drew Tom into much. He was too…interesting. When he talked to his challenge he inevitably got caught up in the verbal sparring, in trying to pick out secrets off that cutting and careful tongue.

His endgames were stalled, humoured, by watching the other boy attempt to dance around him, clumsily, but with an intriguing effectiveness.

The truth was, he was torn between efficiency and tearing the boy's mind open with legilimacy, and yet, to do that, had become a concession in itself.

Harry had set it up as one, because it was the easy way out, and it was beginning to gall him that he had to revert to such brute means to get what he wanted out of Evans. That he couldn't get it out of it without falling to something so crude, without deception or skill.

At some point, this had come to be personal for him too.

It made him want to grind his teeth.

He assumed it was because Harry already knew so much about him, through whatever source that Tom would discover, and so had automatically started playing with _Tom _rather than his persona.

Harry, for the first time out of anyone he'd ever met, had engaged with challenging his full personality, not just his persona or even 'Lord Voldemort' alone because they moved across both the model-student public arena and a private one where he was the Dark Lord….and, so, Harry had cut through numerous defences instantly without his notice, by passing the normal distance he kept between his himself and his prey.

Normally, he played with them, and they only played with whatever side of him he showed to them. But Harry knew both sides of him, knew _him. _

And he didn't know Harry.

It was almost a role reversal. He nearly laughed, incredulous, delirious at the thought.

He couldn't toy with Harry like he did with everyone else.

The rules had changed. He needed to devise a new plan of action, a new board.

Slowly, a smile spread over his face. Yes, that was what he would do He just needed some time to set up.

And on Halloween, he would finally claim his prize.

* * *

A/N: Bit of a filler chapter, sorry :( I hope it was still enjoyable enough to read. Next chapter should make up for it...Tom actually finds something out :P I'll leave you to guess what. Spoilers. I think I have writers block. :/

Thanks for the reviews...:D

Happy Easter! 3 I'm gutted I don't have any chocolate eggs. I'll go and buy some tomorrow, when they're cheap. I'll bake a cake or something instead.

PS: **Still not slash, my main stories, as far as I'm aware, will NEVER be slash. There are enough of those, and my current characterisation for Tom and Harry is now my headcanon characterisation, and so, no romance. I don't write it. 'kay? :)**


	12. Chapter Eleven

Chapter 11:

It was Halloween Night.

Harry hated it. Something bad _always _happened to him Halloween, so, in all honesty, the paranoia he felt was completely justified.

After all, just because he was paranoid it didn't mean that everyone wasn't out to get him.

Like Tom Riddle.

Tom Riddle had been suspiciously lax in his attentions since their meeting in the corridor when he 'discovered' that Dumbledore was Harry's king. He only hoped that meant his tactics had worked.

For some reason, he doubted it though.

Those piercing eyes still rested on him far too often for comfort, and when they didn't, the eyes of one of Riddle's lackey's did. The problem was that he didn't know what Riddle was planning, but he had a horrible feeling in his stomach.

Besides, it was Halloween, something was bound to go wrong. He'd have to be extra vigilant.

Somehow, he'd been ensnared into attending a 'All Hallow's Eve' party in the Slytherin Common Room. He honestly didn't know how that happened, except that he'd somehow got caught in the crowd of snakes and swept along. He bet Riddle had orchestrated that.

The Slytherin Heir had an alarming control over every person in their house. It was seriously creepy. He couldn't get out either, because there was a constant stream of people wanting to talk or dance with him, conveniently whenever he made a move to leave.

Yet, it was done so it didn't seem staged, and he very rarely managed to get out of said dance. Now, to avoid it, he'd simply retreated to a shadowy corner alone, nursing his second firewhiskey of the night.

He'd almost choked when he first drank it tonight, but now, as he'd grown used to the blaze of heat when he swallowed it, and the slight bitterness, he was fine.

He felt pleasantly buzzed, actually, though he was being careful not to become so intoxicated that he would no longer be aware of himself or his surroundings. Who knew, maybe that was what Riddle was aiming for with this farce.

He sighed heavily, a lead-laden sigh.

He'd never missed Ron and Hermione - or even Roger and Imogen - so much. It was better than the company of baby Death Eaters and Riddle puppets.

The feast had been much the same as it had been in his own time, but he didn't have the pleasure of his friend's company, this time. Nor was he allowed to sit alone. Rosier, Mulciber and Avery had nearly dragged him to seat with them, despite how much he glared at them or tried to maintain taciturn.

It wasn't that they particularly liked him, he knew that. It was because Riddle had shown an interest with him and they were trying to gain favour and attention by association.

Sickening.

He wondered if anyone in Slytherin actually had friends, or whether or not it was all just alliances and backstabbing and political manoeuvring. Probably the latter. With Riddle at his head. And the rest of them running around like puppies looking for a friendly pat or word from their cruel and arrogant master.

It was pitiful, pathetic.

It was the same now at the party; all a big show to impress the young Dark Lord, who - to Harry's surprise - didn't merely stick to his elitist inner circle of Lestrange, Malfoy, Prince and Black and instead circled the room, with that charming smile on his face.

It seemed Tom played his role here too.

He supposed that was why Riddle had such a huge power base at Hogwarts; he tempted everyone every so often with what they could have, giving them just another attention that they felt special and thought they had a chance, before withdrawing back to his inner circle.

It made everyone in Slytherin want to be part of his group; and it was clear that to be in that group meant privileges. The best seats in the common room, for example, or a certain level of protection if you were a favourite, and increase in power from association.

All the inner circle members had their own followings and inner circles. It was a bit like a spider web or something. He wanted absolutely no part of it. He'd never liked rigid hierarchies, especially ones when he was expected to kowtow to Tom Riddle.

Never going to happen. The very idea nauseated him.

He took another sip of his drink. Looking to solve his problems at the bottom of a bottle probably wasn't he best way of doing things, but he was having fun trying. Where was the esteemed lord and master anyway? He found out a second later when someone snatched his drink from his grasp, taking a swig.

He stared at the other, un amused. He suddenly felt twitchy all ready, having to fight the urge to punch Riddle in the face because _Halloween _and Tom hadn't even said anything to him yet. Irrelevant, because his very presence and existence was infuriating, but still.

"What do you want?" he asked stiffly, reaching for his drink. Riddle held it out his grasp, absently.

"Careful, you're starting to sound a little slurred, darling. I take it you're new to alcohol."

Harry flushed.

"Just give me my damn drink, and go away. I hate Halloween, I hate this party, and I hate you. And I don't sound slurred!"

"I said starting to," Riddle replied, smirking. "Why do you hate Halloween and me?"

"Because you're a bastard who stole my drink and won't leave me alone," Harry snapped, reaching for the firewhiskey again. "Now get lost."

"Aren't you an unfriendly drunk," Tom stated, still smirking. "I think I'll be confiscating this for all our sake-"

Harry lunged, snatching the bottle back, feeling inordinately pleased with himself. This time, he made sure to keep it away from Riddle, and took a mouthful just to spite the Slytherin, watching the other's eyes narrow.

Tom studied him, leaning into the wall by his side, their shoulders almost touching. It was crowded.

Cassius Parkinson had began dancing on the table, and Harry noted a light sneer trace Tom's lips.

"What do you want?" Harry questioned, again. "Don't you have admirers to attend to?"

"Thought I'd catch a break and talk to my favourite rebel."

"I'm your only rebel," he said sullenly. Tom's smirk broadened.

"Precisely why you're my favourite."

"Ha ha," Harry deadpanned. "I'd have assumed you loved all the attention and the slavering fan club."

"Hmm, well you make a lot of assumptions about me," Tom shrugged, gracefully. "Why don't you like Halloween?"

Harry could feel his temper rising, and just wanted to make the other shut up.

"It's the night my parents were murdered."

Something indefinable crossed the other's face.

"I didn't know."

"And you don't particularly care either," he said coldly. "So spare me the model student condolences."

"I wasn't going to give any," Riddle stated. "Condolences are useless things, they change nothing."

Harry's gaze flicked to the other involuntarily at the opinion, staring.

"It's the socially acceptable thing to do," he replied, more for argument's sake than any disagreement with the other's words.

"You don't seem the type to care all too much about the socially acceptable thing," Tom returned. "Not that I blame you. Society is such a limiting thing."

"Careful," Harry said flatly. "Your true colours are showing."

Riddle merely smirked at him again, before straightening from his position against the wall, pulling him close for a second, to speak in his ear over the sudden din of cheering in the background, and the shouts for the Slytherin heir to come over.

"Happy Halloween Harry."

* * *

Zevi Prince watched the deterioration of Evan's condition carefully.

When his lord had approached him in search of a specialised drug and Veritaserum, he'd had his suspicions for what it would be used for. Now they were confirmed, and it was fascinating to see the effects of his creation.

To an outsider's perspective, it would merely look very much like Harrison was extremely drunk - stumbling, slurring, unable to walk straight.

In truth, it was the drug, sapping the strength from the muscles which led to the stumbling, as well double vision and shakiness as it attacked his nervous system.

It would incapacitate the boy completely, leaving him pretty much unable to move for a while. Certainly long enough to administer the truth potion.

He wondered what Tom wanted to find out, but it wasn't his place to question, only speculate in the relative privacy of his mind. For now, he had a role to play, and starting laughing and making jabs about how drunk their newest snake was.

Everyone around immediately bought it, and Tom stepped forward, just as Harry was about to collapse completely on his way to the dorms, eyes wide with fear. Harry knew he was drugged, but the slurring heaviness of his tongue ensured he couldn't tell until Tom eased off the effects.

That had been another criteria. Tom had to be able to fully control how strongly the drug effected the boy, and be able to reduce and maximise its potency whenever he wanted, while it was in Evan's system. To sort this out, he'd tied it to his lord's magic.

He was rather happy with the end product, if he said so himself.

All that Tom had needed to do was get Harry to drink spiked liquid, and it seemed he'd managed it. From watching their earlier interaction, he presumed his lord had baited Evans into it by trying to _stop _him drinking, which, naturally, led Harry to immediately snatch it back and drink in defiance.

He really was quite innocent at times, Evans. He almost felt sorry for the boy. Except he didn't. It was better that Tom's cruelty or sadism was directed towards Evans then towards them.

His Lord's arm hooked securely around Harrison's waist - perhaps a fraction too tight, not that all their drunken observers would be able to tell - and he pulled Evan's other arm over his own shoulders, lifting the weight onto himself, half carrying and half dragging.

There was an altogether pleased shine to his eyes, carefully hidden, and Zevi knew he'd done well.

"I'll take care of this," Tom murmured, rolling his eyes. "Lightweight."

There was the expected round of laughter, and everyone was already turning back to the next intoxicated scandal.

Zevi smiled slightly as his lord pulled the protesting boy firmly away from the crowds, already slipping away from people's minds and attentions.

He flicked a mild repellent on the door after them. They would have about an hour, undisturbed, for whatever the hell they were up to. He wasn't entirely certain he wanted to know. He didn't want to know.

Now that his part was over, he threw himself into enjoying the party.

He hoped Evans got what was coming to him.

* * *

Harry's heart was thudding in his chest, like a trapped golden snitch, frantic, lashing against his ribcage as if it had done it personal offence.

"You…drugged….me," he accused, even as he felt Riddle carefully slide Harry's wand out of his pocket.

The world was spinning nauseatingly around him, making it hard to think straight. Everything was slipping and sliding around him and, bizarrely, it felt like it was only Riddle's solid grip on him that anchored him to the skin of the earth.

"You should watch what you're drinking. Rule on of alcoholic consumption," Tom replied, in a mocking tone of voice. Harry snarled, wordlessly.

He was dragged into their dorm room, and pushed into a sitting position on one of the beds. It took all of his effort not to simply collapse like a pile of goo or something the second his support system - and it felt so wrong to attribute 'support system' with anything to do with 'Riddle' - vanished to leave him to his devices.

He figured that was the point. If he didn't want to look absolutely pathetic, he had to channel all of his will into his shaky, suddenly alarming weak, arms to keep himself vaguely upright.

"**What the hell is _wrong _with you?" **he demanded, as venomously as he could when his tongue refused to obey his brains command. It came out as more a hiss, for it was easier than trying to verbalise his words.

Riddle froze.

Harry blinked, wondering what he'd…crap. Hissed. Oh no. He had NOT just spoken Parseltongue, now, inadvertently, after all the time he'd spent carefully hiding the ability!

"Did you just-?" Riddle began, staring at him, with utter shock in eyes.

"Question…you?" Harry was very cautious to stick to English, sneering, to let Riddle think it had been a mistake. "We rebels…do that…sometimes."

Tom wasn't expecting him to be a parseltongue, and in Harry's experiences it could be difficult to tell the difference between snake language and English if you weren't specifically watching out for the shift.

He prayed the same hold true for Riddle.

Tom thought he was the only Parselmouth, it would be illogical for him to jump straight to the conclusion that Harry shared that trait. Especially as it was only supposed to be the gift of those in the Slytherin bloodline.

The young Dark Lord stared at him for a moment longer, an almost disturbed glint in his normally composed gaze, before he seemed to shake himself out of it, dismissing it…for now, at least.

Harry almost felt his heart slow down again, before Riddle approached him, resting one hand next to his knee, leaning slightly.

Right.

He was still in a utterly crap, hellish situation. Drugged, vulnerable, and alone with a total pyschopath. Fabulous. Had he mentioned that he _really _hated Halloween?

Riddle traced a hand down his cheek, across his lips, onto his chest, pushing him back further so he was resting on his elbows, uncomfortably contorted on the edge of the bed.

"So…here we are," he murmured, with a rather wicked smile, "all alone."

Harry's blood chilled, his heart beat accelerating again, wildly, with absolute terror. Was Riddle…no way…he wouldn't…he…

"Riddle - Tom-" he began, having the horrible feeling that he _would _beg if this was…that. The smirk broadened, as Tom appraised him.

"-Have you ever heard of Veriteserum?" the other questioned.

His heart slowed down again for a moment, thank god, Riddle wasn't going to…rape him. He'd just been messing with Harry's head.

Okay. He could breathe again.

Then, once more, his blood plummeted as the other's words caught up with his addled mind Yeah, he'd heard of Veriterserum.

The truth potion. Shit.

He clamped his mouth firmly closed, and Riddle's eyes gleamed.

"Now, really, Harrison, what did you think I wanted…_you_?" the Slytherin Heir mocked, cruelly. "If I wanted _that_, I assure you I wouldn't need to drug someone."

"My bad," Harry retorted, through gritted teeth, trying to force his tongue around the suddenly difficult words. "I just…thought…with your general lack of…desirable qualities…otherwise…that you…might. No one…would…willingly."

Tom merely raised a brow, uncorking the bottle, and Harry automatically shut his mouth again.

"Wow, I've find a way to shut you up," Tom murmured, rather dangerously. "Open your mouth."

Harry merely glared. No way was this happening. This couldn't possibly be happening, he tried to move backwards from the immediate danger zone, stopped by Riddle's grip shifting to clamp down on his lower thigh, just above the knee.

"Now, now," Tom tsked. "Let's not be difficult about this. I don't particularly want to pin you to the bed, and I'm sure you would want to avoid the misconceptions should anyone enter too."

Harry clenched his teeth, but stayed put, Riddle was right, the git. He really did not want someone to walk in and see Riddle pinning him down to his bed. It would be…too wrong. Urgh.

He'd never hated anyone so much then he hated the boy in front of him right now. He just seemed to know exactly what to say, how to pinpoint Harry's fears and flaws to use to his own advantage and get the outcome he wanted.

It was bloody infuriating.

Harry's only consolation was his small level of smugness from having managed to get away with talking Parseltongue in front of the Slytherin Heir.

"Open your mouth," Tom ordered. Harry merely smiled, tauntingly, tight lipped in return. No way. This was a nightmare. He felt sick…and he was sure it wasn't just whatever the hell Riddle had put in his drink. "_Now."  
_  
Harry made no move, simply looking back.

The next second, he couldn't breathe, and Riddle's wand was in his hand, pointing at him. He couldn't breathe; not through his nose anyway, and his vision was greying and-god, he needed air.

His mouth opened on its own accord, gasping down the precious oxygen without his permission, and at the same time, Tom struck, fingers fisting in his hair to tilt his head back, forcing the three drops of veriteserum on his tongue, before quickly covering his mouth before he could spit out.

He still couldn't breathe through his nose and damn it…he was going to have to swallow.

Riddle's eyes were lit with triumph, and he glowered, ferociously, wishing he had the energy to punch. Alas, the drug was still in effect - and Riddle had no doubt planned it that way. It was to obliterate the level of physical fighting, once again.

An odd glaze and calmness descended on his thoughts, and, at the same time, he felt the slurring on his tongue fade.

Riddle looked like the cat that got the cream. Harry wanted to punch the expression of his smug, arrogant face. As Tom opened his mouth to begin questioning, Harry abruptly bit down on his own tongue.

Hard.

Copper filled his mouth, his tongue swelling with a sharp stinging. He shot the other a goading grin. Riddle's fists clenched, and he looked almost disbelieving, though the other spoke calmly despite the tightness of his jaw.

"Are you a masochist, or something, Evans?" he demanded, pointing his wand in Harry's direction, presumably to fix his mouth so he could talk properly and clearly again.

Harry immediately scooted back, as fast as he could - which wasn't very fast at all, his felt like he was wading through treacle - misconceptions be damned.

Tom could _not _question him under truth potion! He'd do anything to avoid it…not that he could do much due to the drug…and_oh _Riddle had planned this so very meticulously, hadn't he?

Tom leapt at him, face lined with a ruthless determination, slamming him back down onto the mattress so hard that the breath was knocked out of his lungs.

"Ah, ah," he murmured. "I don't think so. You seem pretty good with evasion and escape attempts, but not this time, _sweetheart_."

His tongue was promptly healed, and, this time, before he could bite it again, Riddle dragged his head backwards into an awkward position to prevent it, baring Harry's throat.

They were both breathing harshly, shooting daggers in their eyes. Then, Riddle smiled again, nothing pleasant in it at all. Pure, chilling, danger and threat.

"Now, Harry, why do you hate me and how do you know me?"

Harry tried in vain to stop himself from answering, but the truth serum had caught a fast grip on his mouth now.

"Because you grew up to murder my parents."

And then there was silence.

Worst. Halloween. Ever.

* * *

_A/N: Don't you just love me for leaving it here? :P Thanks for all the reviews, I'm glad you're enjoying the story :) Tom will finally be getting some answers (woo! Depending on who's side your on, haha). But yeah, enjoy. As always, any feedback is much appreciated!_

_Many of you expressed concerns that with my new story - Dearest Darkness, a Tomione - I would be abandoning these stories. That is not the case. Tom and Harry are still my natural preference, but I promised a friend I'd write her a Tomione, and she challenged me, and I'm quite enjoying it, so I will be working on that...and whatever oneshots or projects I decide to do be it in the HP fandom or other fandoms, too. :) Okay?_


	13. Chapter Twelve

Chapter 12:

He stared at Evans, his thoughts racing.

"What did you just say?" he hated how his voice came out a whisper, how his surprise slipped visibly to his face before he could catch it and contain it.

"Because you grew up to murder my parents," Harry repeated, eyes blazing like emerald poison. Tom's mouth suddenly felt dry. Was this a joke? Was the Veriteserum malfunctioning?

"What are your parents names?" he demanded.

"Lily and James P-" the boy was choking, trying to keep in, thrashing as he tried to get away, somehow avoid answering. He tightened his grip. "Potter."  
_  
Potter? _How was that possible! The potion definitely had to be malfunctioning…but how could he check? His eyes narrowed.

And yet, yet…hadn't he deduced that the boy's entire identity was fabricated? His grip tightened. Zevi's potions were normally flawless. And…he didn't know. He didn't know, and he _despised _it.

This was supposed to answer his questions, not give him more!

"What is your real name, given to you by your birth parents?" he asked.

Harry thrashed beneath his grip, obviously fighting the serum again…Harry couldn't have known the serum wouldn't work….yet, he still had struggled against it…he did have _something _to hide…but this?

"Harry James Potter," the boy spat. His brow furrowed, thinking fast.

There were no Harry James Potter that he knew of, and no James or Lily Potters either. He could feel a niggling realisation growing in his gut, a shift in his brain, but he couldn't…no…it was _too _farfetched, even for his enigma.

And yet, _and yet…_

"When were you born?" he questioned softly.

Harry's eyes were wide with horror, fear, hatred, as he twisted frantically this way and that. It was an impressive display of willpower, as the potion should have had him completely paralysed by now.

The boy shook his head, mutely, nearly pleading. It was absolutely delicious. Tom decided there and then that he _loved _the way that green gaze was utterly fixed on him, absorbed, unable to look away, filled with so many emotions that he wanted to pluck them out like forbidden fruits for his taking.

Harry made a choked noise, and he repeated the question, dangerously, his heart pounding.

"When. Were. You. _Born_?"

"July 31st-19-1980."

He leaned back, surveying the other impassively for a moment, his mind whirring on overdrive.

The future.

He was a time traveller.

Harrison Evans was a time traveller.

A great sense of power swept over him; he had knowledge of the future in his hands…and he figured he could ask whatever he wanted…Harry wouldn't be here if it wasn't _meant_ to happen, would he? It was like a gift from Fate, all prettily wrapped on this defiant, intriguing boy.

"I murdered your parents…" he murmured. "What else do you know about my future? -_tell me!"_

* * *

Harry glared, panicked, trying so hard not to answer. Wasn't this going to mess up the future? Stepping on butterflies - was he going to die? He doubted Riddle would care if he did!. Tom merely smirked at him in response, the arrogant _bastard. _Maybe he could somehow evade the question, answer with something unimportant…

"What are the five things you think I'd find most interesting about my future?" the Slytherin Heir added, as if reading his thoughts.

Harry's jaw clenched, and he strained furiously against the hands holding him in place, wishing that infernal drug wasn't making him so weak. It was wearing off, slightly, he could feel it, but not enough. Not enough. His mouth was opening, he couldn't stop it-

"You're a mass murdering dark lord…" he struggled to control what he was saying, somehow spin this nightmare more in his favour. "You go by many a pseudonym…Lord Voldemort is one of them-" just two more, two more and Tom might assume he was otherwise clueless…"you were defeated by a toddler….but returned in my fourth year."

There, he almost breathed a sigh of relief. All things he'd probably find interesting, but they didn't implicate him. Tom's eyes had grown wide, and he looked almost young, vulnerable even, before that icy gaze hardened once more, even colder for the slip.

"A _toddler?" _he repeated dangerously. "What toddler? What was its name?"

Shit. There was nothing for it, there was nothing he could do to avoid answering, and so, he curled his lips into a cocky smirk, gathering what strength and magic he had, not that it wasn't already simmering, reaching critical.

"Harry Potter."

Riddle stared at him for a moment, his fingers sure to leave bruises.

"Harry…" he began, slowly, before his steely eyes narrowed, and the next second a wand was digging into his throat. Yes. Tom had just put two and two together.

He broadened his smirk to a grin, baring his teeth like an animal and not caring one bit.

"Shall we pick off where we left off?"

And his magic exploded.

* * *

They were tumbling across the floor, punching and kicking and _fighting _and it felt _so _good to be able to finally release his frustrations and just smack the smirk off the other's face like Harry had wanted to since he got there.

He yanked Tom forwards by the shirt collars, trying to reach his wand, trying to keep the Slytherin Heir too close for magic until that was accomplished. He didn't want Riddle using his creepy dark arts on him when he was magically incapable of defending himself.

The explosion of his magic had torn through the effects of the drug, as if someone had injected adrenalin into his muscles, and he'd surged forwards, just as his magic sent Tom flying across the dorm room to crumple on the floor by the wall.

Then he was on the other, punching him across the face as hard as he could, revelling in the blood pouring out of his noise. Tom had promptly started fighting back, fluidly.

He'd expected the other to be really bad at physical combat, due to his hatred of all things muggle, but he wasn't. Eerily, he fought just like Harry did - always moving, attacks rolling in quick succession, using every part of his body possible to try and win.

Harry had thought he'd be more like a snake, with quick sharp strikes before he withdrew, like in his political games, but it wasn't. He hissed in pain as his ankle shattered, Tom momentarily managing to assert dominance - it was swinging, wildly, between them - snarling at him.

"The curse scar, how did that happen? You said I gave it to you."

And Harry, still under truth serum, couldn't help but reply, even as he threw the other off him again, rolling, trying to pin him down to continue punching.

He wasn't thinking anymore; a red haze of anger, frustration and blind hatred for who this boy would be had descended across all rationality.

"Rebounded curse," he spat, only just having the presence of mind to try and keep his answers minimal.

Riddle's head cracked against the floor, violet eyes narrowed with rage and icy determination and so many things that he couldn't stand to look at them too long, as if they would literally burn him with their intensity.

"Which curse?" Tom spun them round again, smashing an elbow into his ribs, and his forearm into Harry's throat.

They were both breathing heavily, gasping for air, unable to stop. The room was slowly getting destroyed around them, and though they weren't actually casting spells, Harry could _taste _the magic on the air. He no longer knew which of theirs it was, and he no longer cared.

All that mattered was _winning. _

"Avada Kedavra," he growled, trying to convey with his glare how much he wanted to be holding his wand while he said those words to Riddle.

Tom's eyes widened, with shock, and Harry used it to his advantage, slamming forwards, scrabbling to reach his wand once more.

The fight continued.

* * *

The party froze, coming to an abrupt halt as the door to the fifth year dorms splintered open, two figures falling out of it, paying absolutely no heed to their surroundings.

Abraxas almost choked.

Evans.

_Tom. _

There was blood pouring down his lord's face, his clothing tattered and shredded, his eyes alight with a dangerous fire, his posture screaming menace and threat, right arm hanging at an odd, grotesque angle, hair matted with blood and dishevelled.

Evans was in no better shape, hunched over slightly as if to protect broken ribs, the fingers on his left arm shattered, his weight almost entirely on one foot, lip bleeding.

The silence could have been too quiet for the dead, it was almost as if no one was even _breathing. _

The two circled each other - and there was nothing docile of weak about Evans now, it was like everything had been batted away and all that remained was a jaded warrior.

There was a moment of calm as they scrambled to their feet, trading daggers in their glares, like they were standing on the brink of something.

It was like there was lightning in the air, sparking off them, and the magic…Salazar, the magic. Dark and Light and Grey and _powerful _and consuming, clashing and entwining and tugging and searching.

His breath hitched. Three of the first years fainted, eyes rolling back in their heads. Neither Prefect nor new student even glanced over, seeming not to notice.

Abraxas wondered if they should be helping, shock splintering through the muffled mist of his intoxication like a sharp shard of glass. His lord gave no indication of wanting existence, indeed, by the way his eyes were drinking in every part of Evans, riveted, he rather suspected Tom didn't.

He wondered for a moment if Tom had found someone to play _against _not with, before dismissing it as absurd. This was Tom.

The next second, the two were at each other's throats more, trading spells and curses and raw power just as much as they traded fists, weaving in and out of each other's zones.

It was like nothing he'd _ever _seen before. Everyone was quickly making their way to the edges of the room, clearing the space, not daring to speak or protest or caution in anyway.

Tom and Harry dove around each other, a deadly dance - and if one missed even a single step, he knew the game would be over.

They weren't speaking, not one word was passing between them, and Zevi seemed to be in something of horrified disbelief sprinkled with admiration.

Lestrange was passed out in the corner, missing everything. Alphard looked very much, if he didn't fear so much for his own life, that he would like to start a betting pool on the outcome.

It was all so fast, the actual movements seemed a blur, and by the time it was the end, he wasn't entirely sure what actually happened.

Alphard swore, whistling lowly.

* * *

Tom lunged for his forehead, aiming for the curse scar, and Harry angled his wand into the others chest, even as pain exploded in his mind, as if his brain or soul wanted to tear itself apart, and he was dropping to his knees.

Riddle was smirking, so smugly ensured of his victory, and Harry's wand was aiming at his chest, even as the blackness began to taint his mind.

"Confringo!"

Blasting curse. Point blank into Riddle's chest.

He had a moment to grin at the pained surprise in Tom's gaze, the screams, and which of them was even screaming…

And then the blackness was devouring him whole.  
He was falling.

* * *

_A/N: Well, I hope it was worth the wait :) Thank you for the reviews. I sincerely hope you enjoyed this chapter._

If you want to find me on Pottermore: NoxDust14444 (I'm a Slytherin, suprised?)


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen:

White.

Everything was white, was he dead?

No, death was not supposed to be painful, and he ached all over, and felt like he'd been encompassed by something cool and gooey. Harry's mouth was filled by the metallic tang of deep sleep, his head pounding. The memories of what had happened, the fight, came to him in snatches, and he tried to spring up sharply, reaching for his wand, only to groan as pain rammed sharply through his body, dizzyingly.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you," came a rather menacing sounding drawl.

Harry's eyes focussed as his head finally stopped spinning, and he sank to lie more firmly against his pillows. Pillows. White. Hospital wing. Great. He turned his head, more cautiously this time, to the bed next to him.

Riddle. Even more fabulous.

How long had he been conscious-shit. Tom knew. He studied the other warily. He realised now that the gooey chill around him must be the same moldable ice-packs that surrounded Tom's form.

He smirked to see the Slytherin Heir covered in bandages too; especially across his chest. The minor injuries had all been dealt with, but the bandages on his chest were still there, much to Harry's satisfaction.

Riddle's eyes narrowed dangerously, but the matron came in before either of them could speak, fussing over him, running all sorts of tests on both of them.

"What, what exactly happened?" Harry asked, testing his croaky voice out, determinedly not looking at Riddle. "How long was I out? When can I leave?"  
The Medi-Witch's lips pursed with disapproval.

"You have both been in a coma for the last two weeks," she replied tightly. "As for what happened, that's what I and the Headmaster would like to know."

Harry resisted the urge to swallow.

He was on thin ice with the faculty already, due to how he'd played with his grades, and he had the feeling Dumbledore had always been suspicious of him as a time-traveller. He always seemed to be staring at him in class, at any rate. Dippet had never seemed wholly impressed with him in the first place.

He was...his stomach plummeted with a sudden fear. Was he going to get kicked out of Hogwarts? From what little he'd seen before passing out, he'd torn Tom's chest to ribbons with his spell. Not that the bastard hadn't fully deserved it...and crap.

Suddenly, staying in the public zone of the Hospital Wing sounded like a good thing, for once. If Tom had been relentless before, what was he going to be like now? He dreaded to think of it.

"It was all a bit of a misunderstanding," Tom stated, next to him. Harry barely refrained from whipping his head around, or visibly showing his surprise.

"A misunderstanding?" came another, cool voice. Dippet.

"Yes," Tom said, quietly, in that model-student voice of him.

Harry couldn't help but be transfixed by the display of Riddle's impeccable fluency in lying. He looked genuinely contrite and even a little sheepish as he ducked his head, but it wasn't overly done.

"I...we were both a little drunk, you know how the Slytherin Halloween Parties get, sir." Here, Tom glanced up with just the tiniest hint of boyish mischief, maybe even complicity, but it was subtle, not pushy. Was Dippet a Slytherin? Harry remembered that he was, from somewhere. Tom continued, now biting his lip, as if subconsciously. "And well, Harry was missing home and I may have said something tactless, and things escalated."

"Escalated?" Dippet repeated incredulously. "You've both been in a coma for two weeks - you almost killed each other! This sort of behaviour simply isn't tolerated at Hogwarts."

Harry's eyes widened. He hadn't realised it had come that close, what would have happened to the timeline if it had?

"I expected better, of both of you," Dippet said stiffly. "You should be more responsible."

The Headmaster's eyes flicked to him, and Harry nearly groaned aloud. What would Dippet say if he knew Tom knew he was from the future?"

"Of course, sir," he said quietly. "It won't happen again, Headmaster..." he turned to Tom, having to refrain from gritting his teeth. "I'm sorry, Tom," he said, knowing this was what the man was at least partially aiming for. He wasn't lying either, he was very sorry Tom knew. "I wasn't in my right mind." No, the git had drugged him and forced Veritaserum down his throat! "It won't happen again." Tom would never get him in such a vulnerable position again.

Tom's eyes shone at him, as if accepting the challenge, the fire carefully concealed from Dippet's watch, even as he offered a flawless, apologetic smile.

"I am to blame as much as you...I feel we may have got off on the wrong foot," the other said. "Perhaps I could make it up to you? You seem to be having some trouble with the consistency of your spellwork, perhaps I could help?"

Harry nearly gaped at the smooth way Tom slipped that in. Consistency? Consistency! Tom's dealings was the reason he came across as inconsistent!

"Are you not too busy, Tom?" came a concerned voice. Dumbledore. Despite his annoyance with the man, Harry nearly melted with relief. Tom's eyes flicked over to the Deputy Head, flashing a smile, before flicking back to Harry for a moment.

"Of course not, I can manage, thank you, Professor," he replied. "It's the least I can do."

"I think it sounds like a great idea," Dippet said, watching them both with speculative eyes. "You can work out your...differences."  
Harry's head snapped to the man.

"What?"

"You will also both be in detention together for the next two months," Dippet continued. "And fifty points will be deducted from the each of you for your appalling conduct. We are at war, gentlemen, such divisions within the school will not be tolerated."

At least he wasn't getting expelled...though he was almost certain that was because of his status as a time traveller and their need to keep an eye on him more than anything else. And Tom's testimony, which was just odd. He supposed Riddle didn't want him leaving before he had his answers.

"Yes sir," they both said, quietly. Dippet left, with a glance at Dumbledore, who studied the two of them for a moment.

"Is Mr Riddle's account of events true, Mr Evans?" he asked, softly. Nigh unnoticeably, Tom's eyes darkened, the lines of his jaw tightening. For the briefest moment, Harry hesitated, now would be the ideal time to prove to Tom that he didn't have trust issues, to involve the future headmaster.

"Yes, sir,"he replied, after only a few seconds. "It is correct."  
Dumbledore stared at him, hard, for a minute or so, his blue gaze moving between them.

"Very well," he murmured. "And there's nothing either of you wish to tell me?"

They glanced at each other, almost involuntarily, their gazes meeting, before they looked at Dumbledore.

"No, sir," they both replied. Dumbledore nodded, once.

"Rest up then boys, I hope there won't be a repeat of this...Mr Evans, if you could come to my office once our dear Madame Wilson releases you..."

"Yes sir," Harry said, quietly, resisting the urge to sigh.

It seemed he'd outrun his grace period. He could feel Tom' scrutiny burning into his skin.  
After a whimsical comment about youth, though he looked somewhat perturbed and troubled, Dumbledore left.

* * *

Gratified to finally be left alone, and hopeful that he wouldn't be interrupted any time soon, Tom angled his body towards Evans once more, appraising him. He himself had only woken up only half an hour or so before the other boy, he was told because his injuries had been more physical then Harry's, of which they had no clue the cause.

They assumed a curious case of magical exhaustion, but he knew better. It was the curse scar...the curse scar of a rebounding Avada Kedavra curse...presumably his.

Harry Potter was utterly remarkable. Even more of an enigma than he'd assumed - by definition, no one survived the killing curse! But this boy had. He'd never felt so fascinated. Evans returned his study, warily.

"You owe me, Harry," he said, very softly, but he knew the other heard. Harry's eyes narrowed.

"How exactly do I owe you anything?" he growled, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. Tom's brows arched.

"Because I'm the reason you're still at Hogwarts."

"No," Harry replied, smirking just slightly. "I'm still at Hogwarts because I'm a time traveller, and they can't afford to leave me without supervision."

"You can't possibly be that naive," Tom stated, a vague disbelief settling over his skin. Could he be that politically oblivious? Could the one person he'd truly played with in years be utterly unaware? He'd thought it before, he knew, but the reminder was nonetheless startling. "If they truly thought you were a threat...say if you tried to maliciously murder a fellow student...then they would have you contained in the Department of Mysteries before you could inflict any more damage on the timeline."

The boy's eyes widened. He clearly hadn't thought of this, but nor, to Tom's fascination, did he immediately protest with some weak claim that 'the ministry would never do such a thing.' Promising.

"You owe me," he repeated. Harry shot him a dark look.

"I wouldn't even be in this situation if you could leave well enough alone!" he snapped.

"What if's are pointless," he dismissed. "You can't rewrite the past..." he shot the other a sly , cruel smile. "As you're no doubt bemoaning."  
It was more than clear Potter wanted him dead.

Harry merely shot him a hard look in return, eyes blazing. His grin vanished to something more business like.

"This is not the right place for such conversations," he continued. "When we leave here, you will explain your statements." There was no question in his voice, no request. Harry 's dark look intensified.

"Like hell I will," he stated flatly. "You know too much already."

Tom's eyes flashed.

"We can do this in a civil manner, of I can use legilimency on you, and tear your mind apart. Which would you prefer?" he asked, dangerously.

Harry opened his mouth to reply, and he couldn't just feel himself waiting for the boy's move and then...his mouth snapped shut again, his eyes moving over Tom's shoulder. Tom barely refrained from smashing something at the second unwanted interruption, but plastered a charming smile upon his face, turning.

If he had less decorum, he would have groaned.

Myrtle McKenzie. Ravenclaw fourth year.

She had the most pathetic crush on him.

It was honestly sickening. He glanced at Harry, who had turned as white as sheet. He wondered why, unable to imagine anything special in Myrtle's future.

He hoped she died. Why had she even been let in? She was intruding. She was also clutching a bleeding nose, and followed by a penitent Rubeus Hagrid. The oaf was flapping his large hands around, appearing distressed.

The second Year was famous around Hogwarts already, for his rough, bumbling ways and antics with dangerous animals. Really it was appalling that he'd even been allowed in.

Professor Kettleburn was very fond of the...he couldn't even call the creature a child. He wasn't human, he probably had giant blood or something. No wonder he was stupid.

"I'm really sorry!" the oaf repeated, face twisted anxiously. "I di'nt mean t' hurt ya."

"Were you not looking where you were going?" he asked, 'innocently.' The oaf looked at him, confused, before nodding.

"Yeah-tha's what happened! I d'int mean t' hurt anyone."

Meanwhile, Myrtle gasped, whipping round to face his bed, giving a high-pitched squeak, turning as red as the blood pouring from her nose.

"T-Tom," she said thickly. Her eyes roved over his bandaged form, and he had to resist the urge to yank the duvet up. She was ugly, pimply with lank hair and a horrible disposition - and he knew Olive Hornby and all the girls in her year made her aware of it, so he didn't know where she found the audacity to pine after him like a bitch in heat.

Her eyes darted away from him when they met his, finding something frightening there, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. It drew people to him, that spark of subtle danger, they craved it in their lives, wanted to solve him, tame him, but none of them ever would. It repulsed them to equal measure, when it showed, alien to them and their pitiful humanity.

"You should get the nurse for that," Harry said quietly.

His gaze snapped to his enigma, but the boy didn't flinch from him. He was the only one who never had, not really.

He had his moments, that was a given, but so far he had never backed down or shied from any challenge Tom had set. It was riveting,.

He wondered how long it would be before Harry was broken too, stripped down to something base, in shards in Tom's fingers. Had this really been the boy who survived the killing curse? What other secrets did he possess? Tom wanted to tease them all out , know and own the boy, entirely for himself.

Rain cut through the grey sheets of rain outside, splintering it. The world was broken.

Emerald eyes bore into his skin, cutting through. He couldn't help but wonder what Harry Potter Evans saw when he looked at him, if he saw the truth at all. He flashed a dazzling smile.

The boy moved his gaze away.

He let it be, partially due to the audience, partially due to the distance between them limiting his actions, and partially because he knew eventually he would steal it back. Harry Potter. Harrison Evans.

He couldn't resist the jail bait.

He had to possess him.

* * *

Harry couldn't help but gape at the two people in the Hospital wing.

He wanted to warn them, the words on the tips of his tongue, that the other Slytherin lounging so vulnerably - however he tried to hide it with his smiles and his strong posture - on the bed would ruin all their lives.

One hospital wing, and they were all the victims of Tom Riddle. It should have been a club or something. Before he could dwell on the dark thought any longer, Matron Wilson bustled in, hearing the kerfuffle.

"Oh, you silly girl!" she cried. "What have you done this time?" she asked, half despairing. "Episkey."

The nose immediately fixed itself, and with a quick tergeo, the blood too was gone.

She turned to Hagrid...and oh...Hagrid. He couldn't believe he hadn't sought the young version of his friend out earlier.

Harry cursed himself silently. He'd got too caught up in Tom. He feared that may have been becoming a problem. It was so easy to get drawn into the Slytherin Heir, lost in his endless games and personas, not able to find a way out.

It was frightening, but, on some level, he almost enjoyed himself. When he just played, and forgot the importance, the rest of the world and his worries seemed to melt away. Then he remembered with an alarming suddenness , everything flooding back.

He could feel those eyes on him, taunting, just daring him to turn around, look, and let himself dance on the edge of his pedestal again. To come right up to the edge, to flirt with the danger and unyielding force of will that was the Slytherin Heir.

The moment was broken when the gaze moved on, releasing him from its field of gravity.

No.  
He'd got himself in too deep already.

He just needed to get home.

* * *

_A/N: Hope you guys continue to enjoy the story, and that I continue to live up to your expectations :) Thank you for the AMAZING reviews. I feel so loved! _

_PS: I'm hitting major exam season, hence why my updating has slowed, and will continue to slow, because I want to pass and get into my uni of choice. Sorry about that, but, you know, in this case real life must take priority. But I thought I'd scribble out this for you first, apologies if its fillery...Wish me luck! See you around..._

_- The Fictionist_


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen:  
"Are you mad?" Zevi demanded, as they crowded around the fire in the common room, talking in hushed voices. "We are not attacking Evans!"

"Don't be such a wuss," Alphard rolled his eyes.

"Besides," Cygnus said darkly, eyes flashing with menace, "look what he did to Tom! He deserves to be punished. We can't let him get away with it - you agree with me, don't you, Black? Malfoy?"

Abraxas studied them all with cool, mercury eyes.

"His punishment is not our prerogative," he said, neutrally. "Tom gets to decide what we do...unless you were thinking of targeting his new project without his hearsay, Lestrange?" Malfoy's head turned to him. "Zevi, why do you not want to attack Evans?"

He considered his words carefully for a moment.  
"He almost killed Tom," he said, finally. "He put a blasting curse point blank into Tom's chest...do you really want to get on the wrong side of him?"

"So you are a coward," Lestrange sneered. Zevi's jaw tightened.

"No," he responded icily. "I'm a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor." Lestrange bristled at the insinuation of his wrong house placement. He continued before the other could. "But more so, Tom..." he dropped his voice even further. "Tom asked me to create him a paralytic." He didn't mention the Veritaserum.

Alphard's eyes widened.

"For Evans?"

"No, for one of the Owls' so he could dissect it," he replied, solemnly.

"Right, for Evans, sorry, stupid question," Alphard replied after a moment, rolling his eyes. "Really Princess, there's no need to be so snarky about it." The Black Heir's head tilted, in thought.

"He was duelling Tom under the influence of a paralytic," Abraxas murmured, with realisation.

"Did you do the potion wrong?" Cygnus questioned, eyebrows arched.

"No," he replied coldly. "My potions are flawless. Would you like me to remind you?"

Abraxas' lips curled up slightly, Alphard chuckled, and Cygnus had turned a shade paler than before, much to Zevi's satisfaction.

"I was just checking, further demonstrations are not necessary," Lestrange stated stiffly.

"So, what?" Alphard leaned lazily in his chair, basking in the warmth of the fire. "We wait for Tom? I still think we should ram his head down a toilet."

"Have some patience," Abraxas chided. "Tom comes back today. It's not like you have to wait long."

"Too long," Alphard growled, eyes flashing. "Come on, do you and Princess not even want to get him back, even a little bit, for Tom?"

"Of course we do," Zevi snapped. "But it's Tom's call, and revenge is a dish best served cold. You have to plan these things, make it perfect."

"Psh, don't care if it's perfect, I just want the little bastard to suffer," Cygnus dismissed.

He and Abraxas exchanged exasperated looks; the mutual suffering of the two more...rational members of their group. Alphard and Cygnus were both more passionate, and more bloodthirsty. Sometimes their confidence worked for them, other times his and Abraxas' more careful approach proved favourable. He supposed they worked in different situations.

Neither of them had time to respond, for at that moment their wayward Lord had returned.

Zevi had been absolutely terrified when Tom and Harry had collapsed; blood pooling onto the common room floor around them. He and Cygnus had quickly taken both of them to the Hospital Wing, though Cygnus had tried to convince him to just let Harry bleed out instead, while Abraxas and Alphard cleaned out the common room and investigated the situation.

Apparently, the fifth year boys dorm had been a total mess, resembling a war zone more than anything else. The hangings had been torn off the four posters, shredded - bed posts were smashed, pillow feathers covered the room like snow, and there were great dents and scratches gouged into the walls. It had been a miracle they, and the seventh years, had managed to fix it before the Professor's investigated.

They'd, truthfully, offered no explanation for what had happened - for none of them knew. He couldn't help but hope Tom would fill them in, though he doubted...speaking of.

Their Lord strode in. Harry wasn't with him.

They all stood up, expectant. Tom surveyed everything for a moment, face impassive.

He still looked pale, and a sliver of bandages peaked out from under his shirt, but he looked fine otherwise, all healed. He stalked over with that graceful confidence, taking his seat - it had remained empty for the last three weeks, despite the prefect's absence - and they watched him cautiously.

Everyone did.

Despite the fact that there were holder students in their house, it was Tom's power that swayed them all to follow at his heels. No one challenged Tom, it was why they were all so incredulous as to his stint in the Hospital Wing. It never happened. Some may have began to doubt their leader from this, but he knew most didn't.

Tom's aura today was magnificent, singing as if to remind them why they paid this boy their servitude. It made his mouth run dry.

No, it was impossible to doubt Tom, only to cast light on Evans in further scrutiny.

The rest of the common room turned to its previous level of noise, when it became clear that Tom wasn't going to acknowledge what had happened with any sort of speech. But, Zevi knew, if anyone took this as a sign of weakness and tried to act on it, that Tom would crush them instantly and viciously. He felt their lord's eyes on each of them in turn, as he weighed his words.

Lestrange started immediately.

"What are you going to do about Evans?" he demanded. "You can't let him get away with this - give him to me, my lord, I will make sure he screams and begs, he can be my project-"

"Your project?" Tom spoke for the first time, dangerously, silkily. Lestrange's mouth froze. Tom's eyes seemed to burn with a white hot heat, and yet, they still seemed so very cold. "I suppose you'd love that, Cygnus," he continued softly. "Harry does look rather like me, after all."

There was a moment of thick silence, as Zevi felt himself process what Tom had just implied. Lestrange spluttered, eyes wide, clearly searching for a way to defend himself somehow. A laugh escaped from Alphard's mouth at Lestrange's expense, but it seemed a mistake, for Tom's eyes shifted their gaze over to the Black Heir.

"Have you completed all your assignments, Alphard?" he questioned, smiling. Alphard's laughter died.

"N-No," he said, nervously. "I was - distracted - and what with you being in the Hospital Wing and all-"

"Oh no," Tom waved a dismissive hand. "I understand completely, I'm sure you were sick with worry. It's touching, really. " His voice was too soft, far too soft - menacing, mocking. "What about you, Brax, were you concerned over me too?"

"Yes my lord," he replied, determinedly keeping his eyes off the others. "I have however managed to do what you asked of me, despite this. I figured you would prefer us to be productive."

He could feel Alphard shooting daggers at him with his eyes. Tom nodded, after a moment, and he nearly breathed an audible sigh of relief.

"I will also be wanting a word with you, Prince," Tom said, and Zevi's heart almost stopped when those violet eyes landed on him, frosted. This was about his potion. He knew it. He didn't understand why it didn't work. It was flawless. He knew it was. But he also knew Tom would want to quiz him on it, and that his lord would probably have his own theories already.  
He nodded his head, to show he understood, not daring to even swallow at the sudden thickness in his throat.

"Did one of you get the class work for me?" Tom questioned, his threat idle again for the moment, but still lurking in the shadows of his countenance.

"I did, I got your Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, Herbology and Ancient Runes," Cygnus said, before adding, more quietly. "Prince got your Arithmancy, Black your Care of Magical Creatures."  
Tom nodded in acceptance.

It almost felt like he'd never been gone.

* * *

Harry entered the Transfigurations Office, almost expecting it to look like McGonagall's still.

It didn't. Nor did it look like the future Headmaster's office. Instead of the clutter of odd trinkets he was used to, which had no doubt been collected over the years, the office was instead simply rather homely...with a couple of odd things here and there.

The Pensieve was still there though, and it gave him some sense of familiarity. And Dumbledore, auburn haired, sat behind his desks with his fingers steepled, neat piles of marking all around him. That was one definite change he noticed; this younger Dumbledore's office was generally far less...slapdash and untidy.

"Hello Mr Evans, it's nice to see you up and about again," the man greeted pleasantly. "Lemon drop?"  
And the resemblance was back, strikingly. Harry shook his head at the offer.

"You wanted to see me, Professor," he murmured.

"Yes," Dumbledore stated. "Take a seat. Are you sure you wouldn't like a lemon drop? Tea? Pumpkin juice?"

"No thank you, sir," Harry replied, more firmly this time.

"So, I apologise for not offering you more support earlier, I wished to give you some space to find your bearings first," Dumbledore said. "How are you adjusting? You seem close to Miss Pierce and Mr Watkins."

"Yeah," Harry smiled. "Imogen and Roger have been great. Very kind. And I'm adjusting fine, thank you...some things are a little...different to what I expected, and I'd obviously rather return home, but...everyone's been...fine," he finished, lamely. Dumbledore nodded, smiling back genially.

"I'm glad to hear you've been made to feel welcome," he said. "Mr Riddle, too?"

Ah. Harry forced his smile to stay in place. He'd had a feeling Tom would come up.

"We have some differences in opinion, as should be obvious," he replied, cautiously.

"You know you can tell me anything, don't you, Harry?" Dumbledore questioned, looking concerned. Maybe he'd spent too much time around Tom, trying to stay afloat in the Slytherin Heir's manipulations, but he caught the change in address from 'Mr Evans' to 'Harry' immediately.

"Not everything," he replied, after a moment, offering a wry grin, trying to come across as easy-going, harmless. Tom's words rang, infuriatingly, in his head. Would Dumbledore and Dippet have him moved to a cell in the Department of Mysteries if he was deemed to much as a threat. "It would endanger the timeline, if I did that."

There, best to reiterate that he was responsible with these things. Dumbledore chuckled slightly, waving a hand.

"Of course, of course," he murmured. They stared at each other for a moment. "You know Mr Riddle's future though, don't you?" he questioned. Harry's eyes narrowed slightly.

"I know a lot of futures, professor, yours included," he replied.

"This must be a fascinating experience for you," Dumbledore stated.

"That's one way to put it," Harry said. Dumbledore studied him for a moment.

"The urge to change things must be quite overwhelming," Dumbledore continued, eyes like X-rays.

"Not as much as I thought it would be," Harry returned, shrugging. "I was never good at history, I'd hate to delete my own existence."

More proof that he could deal with this well, and that he had no intention of playing God...there was no need to remove him as a threat.

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, with another friendly smile which Harry, suddenly, horribly, wasn't entirely sure he trusted. Dumbledore was generally kindly, despite his faults, he shouldn't be projecting Tom's habit of using smiles to hide his razor sharp, deadly persona upon the future Headmaster. They were completely different...weren't they? "That would be most unfortunate. Though I understand the...impulse might be harder to control with those whose future you feel more...affected by?"

Tom. Dumbledore was referring to Tom again. Wow. The Diary Tom had said Dumbledore kept an annoyingly close watch on him, and he'd noticed some tension between the prefect and the Deputy Head before in class, but this...

"Naturally," he replied. "But it is no problem, professor, don't worry. I have everything under control"  
Dumbledore surveyed him.

"The events of Halloween would suggest otherwise."

Harry stared, warily.

"I wasn't deliberately trying to kill him, if that's what you're implying, professor," he said, his voice noticeably cooler. "It was an accident, like he said. Just a...misunderstanding."

Dumbledore returned his scrutiny in silence, for a minute.

"He seems very interested in you."

Harry remained silent, at that.

"Was there anything else you wanted, Professor?" he asked, quietly. "I'm rather tired."

Dumbledore studied him for a further moment, before nodding, that smile back.

"Of course, forgive me, you're still recovering. I was merely...concerned."

Harry nodded, standing up.

"Goodbye, professor."

"My office door is always open," Dumbledore called after him, softly.

* * *

Tom studied Prince in front of him, his earnest, desperate composition as the two of them sat discreetly upon the sofa again, the picture of normalcy to any outsider looking in. Just two people talking, for both their faces were composed. It was only Zevi's eyes and a few other tells that revealed his true fear. He had his theories about why the Paralytic hadn't worked the way it was intended to, but he needed to subtly see if he could confirm then.

"You realise your failure nearly cost me my life, do you not?" he started, silkily. Prince's face turned even paler. "I don't like failure normally, but your current error was simply unacceptable, do you not agree?"

"I agree," Prince murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry. Forgive me. It should have been flawless, I don't understand how this could have..." the boy trailed off, fists clenching slightly. He wondered if his follower, belatedly, had reached the same conclusion as he had. "You have every right to punish me," he added.

Yes, he'd definitely come to the same conclusion if the sudden trapped, wary light in his eyes was anything to go by. Prince dared not voice the conclusion.

"Indeed I do, and I will," he replied dangerously. "But first...does the theory of magic levels apply to potions?" he questioned. Zevi's eyes snapped up to his, briefly, and the boy swallowed.

"Not normally," he replied. "But you...you wanted to be able to control the potency of the paralytic, so I tied it to your magic..."

That confirmed his theory. The paralytic had slipped because his own focus on it had been challenged, and his magic forced to deal with something else automatically. Debatably, if he'd focussed on controlling the drug rather than fighting, his control would have been ensured...debatably, because Harry's magic had also started fighting the drug too.

Debatably...if they were on similar power levels. Before, he would have baulked at the audacity of such a claim, but now...well, if Harry had survived the killing curse...Evans, Potter, was powerful. He would be a fool to deny that, and he was never a fool.

"If you fail next time," he told Prince, simply. "You will no longer have the capacity to be able to try again."

Zevi swallowed again, hands trembling, imperceptibly.

"Yes, my lord, it won't happen again, my lord," he replied, shakily, obviously trying to sound composed.

Tom turned his gaze away, dismissively, to his homework.

It shouldn't take him more than a couple of hours to catch up, but he wanted to be ready for the class on Monday. He didn't like the thought of falling in his position as the top student in school, of being anything less than flawless in his performance. He loathed failure; especially public inadequacy.

The common room door opened again, and his eyes darted up. Evans. Finally.

He sat up a bit straighter in his chair.

Harry had been gone, much to his annoyance, when he'd woken up again. The slippery bastard. Madame Wilson had shared his displeasure, though undoubtedly because she actually cared about his health rather than Tom's own less altruistic reasons. The rest of the common room had gone still again, quiet, and most of them were glaring venomously at the newest snake.

"Harry," he called out.

Emerald eyes darted to him, hard as ice, and their gazes locked. Harry owed him. And they needed to talk.

Time travel. He was still trying to wrap his head around, it seemed so inconceivable, but it fit...it fit so very perfectly that he was almost suspicious it was another lie. He made a indication for the other to come over. Harry looked around the room, and, seeing nothing but hostility, the way several people shifted to block passage to the dorms, the boy did so, stopping in front of him, arms folded defensively.

He shot the other a smirk.  
"Closer still, sit down, I'm not going to bite."

"I'd rather not," Harry said stiffly.

"Scared?" he taunted.

"No. I just, for some bizarre reason, have no desire to be anywhere near your twatish self."

"My, such eloquence, how do you come up with all these witty comebacks?" he mocked.

"Its a natural born skill reserved for jerks with their heads so far up their arse that it's miraculous they can respond," Harry returned sweetly. He raised his brows.

"Wow, the conversations you must have with yourself are probably highly entertaining then."

Harry's eyes narrowed.  
"What do you want? Was Halloween not enough for you?"

"Nope, I'm insatiable," he smirked, his smirk widened at the discreet looks everyone else in the common room gave them, and the way colour rose to the other boy's cheeks at the way such a statement could be taken. He indicated to the seat next to him again, some of his playful demeanour evaporating. "Unless you're that eager to take this to dormitories?" he added, eyes gleaming.

Harry sat down, posture rigid, eyes searing killing curse green. He put up another ward, surveying the other more closely under its privacy.

"So...Harry Potter," he tried the name on his tongue. "It seems we have rather a lot of catching up to do."

* * *

A/N: So, it seems I can't refrain from updating :/  
Thanks for all the review, hope you enjoy! Next update should be for either Solace in Shadows or Dearest Darkness...when I have time. Who even knows.

PS: Does Tom seem suitably menacing?


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter 15:

"And therein lies the differences in our opinion," Harry replied, tersely. "I have no desire to talk to you, and certainly no desire to help you 'catch up.' You know too much already."

He felt utterly uncomfortable this close to the Slytherin Heir, yet, strangely drawn. Tom undoubtedly had a pull around him, like a black hole, he just dragged people in for the sole purpose of destroying them, drowning them in the darkness. Tom smirked back at him, but there was nothing but seriousness in his piercing eyes.

"Too much?" the Slytherin Heir enquired delicately. "There's no such thing as too much knowledge, and if there was, it would not apply to you and your extraordinary circumstances."

"Butterfly effect," Harry growled. "You're stepping on butterflies. It's called the future for a reason, Riddle, you are not supposed to know it."

"I never did like butterflies," Tom returned calmly. "And you owe me. The damage is done, and the world hasn't gone up in smoke. So you will elaborate your claims."

Not bloody likely! Harry moved to stand up, wordlessly, infuriated, only for a hand to clamp down fiercely on his thigh again, painful in its grip, holding him in place. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

Tom smiled, sweetly in response, his nails digging in. Harry refused to react to that, despite the stinging sensation. Tom's eyebrows arched after a few seconds, demandingly, in repeat of his question. Harry merely raised his own in response, unyielding. To his satisfaction, Tom broke from the staring competition first.

"Tell me," the Slytherin repeated, once more, with a sharp edge of coldness and command in his voice now. Harry snorted.

"If I didn't tell you the first times you asked, what makes you think I will now? I thought you were supposed to be a genius!"  
Tom studied him for a moment, expression unreadable. He seemed to switch tactics from blunt, if not more charmingly woven, intimidation.

"To clarify: your name is actually Harry Potter, I grew up to kill your parents Lily and James Potter on Halloween. You were born in 1980. Presumably on the night your parents died, I also cast the killing curse at you, which rebounded, destroying me, Lord Voldemort.." Tom's eyes took on a slight, almost unnoticeable gleam. "I returned in your fourth year...which would have been just before you arrived here."

Harry said nothing, studying the other with as neutral an expression as possible for him. The other's head tilted.

"It was a traumatic experience for you, as exemplified by the fact you have nightmares - every night." Here, Harry stiffened, as Tom was straying into things Harry himself had never made mention of, and so far doing so with an alarming accuracy. "You've also had numerous encounters with my future self, as you don't simply hate the idea of him, and you knew me on sight suggesting an awareness of my past... you're also not a coward, so nightmares this severe without any experiential basis seem implausible for you. The curse created a connection between us, which furthers your dislike and apparent desire to distance yourself from me, but it also draws you closer, exacerbating your fear that I will find out more about the future and thus jeopardize the existence of everyone you care about."

"And if I do? What's your point?" Harry returned.

"Oh, so that's all true then, thank you for the clarification," Tom returned pleasantly. Harry nearly growled with annoyance, his eyes closing briefly, his jaw tight. Tom leaned forwards, ever closer, seeming to read everything about him even closer. _"_**I'm curious, Harry. Do you not find it fascinating that out of all the days in the history of the world that you should fall into mine**_?_"

Harry swallowed, thickly.

"**Coincidence**," he dismissed.

Tom's eyes flared with a brighter gleam, his lips twisting into a vibrant spark, lit by a strange excitement.

"I don't believe in coincidences," he replied, smirking, before seeming to suddenly change the subject. "Now, about your tutoring," he began. Harry blinked at the abruptness, suspicious.

"What?" he demanded. "Back up, tutoring? You're not tutoring me! I thought that was a joke!"

Tom widened his eyes, mockingly, in response, placing a hand on his own chest.

"A joke? Harry, your education is not a joke...I would hardly deserve my position as prefect if I didn't take the learning of my fellow students seriously."

Harry resisted the urge to laugh at that, and Tom's utterly solemn delivery, which so contrasted with the almost playful glow in his eyes. He then wondered how badly someone was going to get tortured, or how screwed up the world was, and who'd died to make Tom seem so...happy suddenly. It was still suspicious. Well, perhaps not happy, but in so good a mood.

"Kind of you," he responded. "But unnecessary." Tom seemed content to ignore his protests on the matter, pulling something from his bag. Harry paused. "-Is that-is that my student file/ How the hell do you even have that?"

"Don't be absurd," Tom drawled, flicking through it. "Of course it's not your student file."

"Oh, okay," Harry said, feeling somewhat stupid.

"It's a copy of it," Tom added, with what looked like a smirk curling at his lips.

Harry figured it was a bad thing that he wasn't even surprised. Tom continued before he could speak.

"I will be testing your abilities for the next two weeks, to better grasp where you need help, and then we will come up with a revision scheme that is appropriate to that."

"That sounds like a lot of hours," Harry muttered, with mounting horror.

"I'm very dedicated," Tom replied. Harry dropped all pretenses.

"No," he stated flatly. "I'm not doing it. I'm not spending that much time with you, and we both know we'd be at each other's throats the whole time."

"I can deal with that," Tom winked. Harry sneered in response. "Besides," Tom added, in almost an afterthought, "you don't have a choice. Headmaster's orders. He thinks we should bond."

Harry nearly choked at the thought.

"I'd rather swallow acid," he said, sweetly. He paused...didn't they also have detention together? Tom patting his cheek, mockingly.

"We're going to be spending a lot of time together, golden boy. It'll be easier if you just cooperate."

"With you?" Harry questioned. "No thanks."

"All the more fun then," Tom replied, that gleam in his eyes only growing more pronounced. "I shall...very much...look forward to it."

"At least that makes one of us," Harry said tersely, before tilting his head. "Although..." he let his gaze drift to the bandages peeking from under the other's shirt. "Now I think about it, a valid, headmaster sponsored excuse to beat down your overwhelming ego does sound rather enjoyable."

Tom merely laughed at him, though his gaze darkened fractionally with menace.

"Careful, Harry," he murmured. "You took me by surprise last time, I will not be so kind again now I know your capabilities."

"And I yours," Harry returned, defiantly.

"Perhaps," Tom said. "So what type of encounters did you have with my future self to be so certain of this? A duel would be most likely, if you so claim to know my full duelling capabilities outside of the little tricks in class."

Harry gritted his teeth, shooting the other an irritated look. Did he just analyse constantly? Of course he did! As well as rapidly switching the conversation...except, he'd never switched his goals, had he? Note to self: Tom Riddle is fully aware of everything he does, and always has an ulterior motive towards a greater goal.

"Yes," he confirmed, finally. "We've duelled." Kind of. Priori Incantatem...he paused as a thought struck him. Wouldn't their wands just connect whenever they tried duelling?

"Problem?"

He glanced up at Tom's eyes, still fixed on his face, no doubt noting everything.

"You, for one," Harry stated. "But that's generally a universal problem, and unfortunately not one I can correct without destroying the timeline."

"Back at you," Tom replied lightly. Harry's brow furrowed.

"What?"

"Back. At. You," the Slytherin Heir repeated, smiling. "As much as I would like to kill you, extenuating circumstances would suggest that to be a foolish course of action."

That was a sudden switch...Harry stared at the other, his posture rigid. Tom's smile only broadened, pleasantly, and Harry felt a bit sick.

"Rebounding curses, I presume?"  
Tom gave no answer, studying him for a moment.

"Everyone falls sooner or later, Harry Potter Evans, everyone. Off you go now, there's a good boy - tutoring tomorrow, don't be late or someone else will be."  
Harry blinked. Late...late as in time...and late as in dead...he stood, fists white-knuckled.

"You're an arrogant bastard, Riddle."

"Love you too, pet..."

And then Tom had turned away from him, hailing over Cygnus Lestrange instead.

Harry strode out the common room, ignoring the eyes on his back.

* * *

_A/N: Once again, not my best chapter...but it's something? It seems an unworthy prize for you guys being AMAZING enough to give me 1000 reviews, so sorry, but accept it as a token of my appreciate and affection anyway :) I should have revised today, but hey, tomorrow is another day in which to cram...who am I kidding? Anyway. I hope you enjoy the chapter, sorry if it's very One-POVy again...and short._

If I add to it, I'll let you know...

PS: The idea of Tom having Harry's student file scenario came from Loveless/Ex Student :) Thank you!


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter 16:  
Harry strode down the corridor, angrily, silently seething.

He'd just spent his evening, before dinner, in detention with Riddle - cleaning out all the bathrooms in the dungeon up to the third floor, manually and without magic. And now, now he had to meet up with the bastard again for damn tutorials that he didn't want or need.

Had he ever mentioned that he hated Tom Riddle? Honestly hated him? He was infuriating. He didn't even have the courtesy of being easily despicable, and Harry made an effort to ignore the contradictions in his last two sentences.

See, this was why Riddle was so annoying - he was even confusing when Harry was trying to hate him, simply because he didn't.

And he wanted to.

Tom Riddle wasn't easy to hate and that just made it ten times worse. He didn't like the Slytherin Heir, and the idea of them getting along or being anything less than enemies was laughable, but he didn't quite hate him either however hard he tried.  
Unfortunately.

The other was...interesting, he'd give him that, and certainly completely different to what Harry had been expecting. He'd heard, even from the horse's mouth, that the other was charming and good at persuading at people, but, somehow, he'd still expected him to be more like Voldemort.

Harry could tell already that he most definitely wasn't a nice person, but he...he didn't know. Voldemort had always seemed somewhat blunt to him, insane, while Tom...Tom was dangerously sane. Unstable, most likely, but he wouldn't say the young Dark Lord was insane yet...just a complete genius with an obvious cruel streak and a razor sharp wit.

It was disconcerting.

Especially the blatant - well, it was practically an obsession, wasn't it? - which the other seemed to have regarding him.

Tom Riddle was quickly bored with his toys, but he broke them quickly too.

Harry shuddered, vowing there and then that would never happen to him. He turned a corner, hands stuffed in his pockets, only to walk straight into someone. Again.

At least it wasn't Riddle this ti-he froze on the spot. Charlus 'call me Leonard' Potter was standing in front of him, eyes narrowed.

The sixth year looked somewhat like him, with the same black messy hair and the same nose. The eyes were of course different, hazel and evenly spaced from each other. Smaller than his own, perhaps.  
Their build was different, Harry was more slender - though not feminine, wiry. Leonard Potter had broad shoulders and looked every inch a Keeper or a Beater, as opposed to a seeker.

"Watch where you're going," his grandfather ordered, a bit coolly.

"I-sorry," Harry said automatically, suddenly flustered. He tried for a smile. "Leonard Potter, right?"

"What's it to you?" Leonard returned warily, before his head tilted. His eyes widened as he clicked his fingers in realisation, as if searching for a thought, the hostility fading from his stance. "You're the new kid who hospitalised Riddle."

"Uh, yeah, that's me?"

"God, it's a pleasure, I've wanted to do that since forever." Harry abruptly found the sixth years' hand in his, shaking firmly. He blinked.

"Oh thank god," he replied, feeling numb, a laugh startling past his lips. "Someone sane! I was starting to think everyone around here loved the bastard."

"Just most of them." Leonard seemed to relax slightly with this mutual enemy in common, eyeing him. "Though to date I think you're the only snake who doesn't."  
Harry almost grimaced at the reminder of his sorting.

"It's a lonely life," he said, instead, lightly, with a shrug.

"I'm surprised you're still standing actually." Leonard was starting to look concerned now, and Harry wasn't sure if he was shocked at the compassion the Gryffindor was showing for a stranger and a Slytherin, touched, or both. "He's a nasty piece of work when he's crossed, Tom Riddle...though I daresay you know that by now." Leonard's head tilted the other way.

Harry shrugged again; not really comfortable talking about it. They studied each for a further moment, with some awkwardness.

"What did you do to piss him off anyway?"

"Why does everyone assume I've pissed him off?" Harry exclaimed, indignantly, before he could stop himself. "Seriously, people keep asking me this, like _I'm_ the annoying one!"

Leonard stared at him, with an almost incredulous air, before chuckling.

"You're not like any Slytherin I've ever met," he murmured. Harry snorted. That was because he wasn't really a Slytherin – the Sorting Hat was just playing some sort of cruel prank on him or something. "And, well, if it was the other way round nothing would be happening. He'd just ignore you."

"Oh I wish," Harry muttered darkly. Leonard shot him a curious look. He offered a strained smile in response. There was another awkward silence.

"Well, I'll let you get going, you seemed to be in a rush," the Potter dismissed, with a not quite warm smile, but not a cold one either. Neutrally friendly, or something.

"Yeah...sorry about that, I seem to have a bad habit of walking into people," Harry mumbled sheepishly, embarrassed.

"No worries," Leonard replied, seemingly with some amusement. There was yet another uncomfortable silence, neither of them quite knowing what to say.

"Well, bye," Harry said, with a smile. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too, Evans," Leonard stated, clapping his arm, moving past, before pausing, looking at him, then shaking his head and continuing onwards quickly.

Harry found his eyes following the other out of sight. That had been...surreal. He couldn't believe he'd just had a conversation with his grandfather - albeit a highly awkward, stilted and short conversation.

Then he remembered why he was hurrying again and swore loudly, casting a tempus charm. He was supposed to be meeting Riddle in about a minute. As in, he was going to be late. Shit.

Hating the fact he was doing so, he sprinted.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore had, somewhat reluctantly, spent several hours supervising Riddle and Evans in their detention.

The Headmaster had given him the task due to his 'obvious interest' in their affairs, and he suspected it was some form of subtle punishment.

He certainly had better things to be doing, with the blossoming war with Gellert to manage, and constant demands on his time in various fields of study and numerous projects - and this was not even taking into account seven years of marking to do and lesson plans.

And now, unfortunately, he was finding it difficult to even concentrate on that.

He'd never liked Tom Riddle, he could admit that to himself. He hadn't liked the boy since he'd heard about his affairs at that bleak orphanage all those years ago, when the child had merely been eleven and remote.

The manic glee and clear tendency towards Psychopathic behaviour alarmed and troubled him, and he'd hoped to quickly put a stop to it with his warnings and the indication that such character was not acceptable in Hogwarts or indeed the greater world.

It had only driven the boy to hiding and shadows, a taunting mask of perfection in which only he was able to see the danger and menace that lurked below the surface. None of the other teachers would believe a word against the poor, charismatic and handsome orphan, and he wasn't so foolish as to press the issue.

He'd just kept a close on eye on the situation.

He didn't get further involved though, he was too busy, and he didn't see what he could do to neutralise the potential threat outside of killing the boy anyway, and that would be too rash. The Matron had indicated he'd always been this way, so it was probably a matter of nature over nurture.

Even if it wasn't, Tom Riddle quite clearly did not desire friendship, assistance or companionship of any kind - otherwise he would have reached out to his fellow students. More so, assistance for a Slytherin from the Head of Gryffindor would only have sought to make it worse, and exacerbated the possibility of Tom's isolation.

It seemed, despite this, Riddle had still turned out...ominous.

That was more than evident in the behaviour and mannerisms of the mysterious Mr Evans. The time traveller was obviously wary of the Slytherin Prefect, indicating of a certain level of infamy in Riddle's future, only confirmed by the way Evans had almost killed Tom on Halloween.

Tom must have committed terrible acts for such an otherwise unassuming (outside of future knowledge) and largely harmless boy to attempt murder within the wards. They said it was a misunderstanding, but, like coincidences, he didn't believe such accidents happened around Tom Riddle.

He would have been more than happy to step aside and let Evans perform such as assassination if it didn't destroy the timeline. Unfortunately, it did, and so was not a viable option however better such a future could possibly be. Time itself was too complex for one man or even several to attempt to control and manipulate.

There was something there though - between Riddle and Evans.  
It was something different, something new. Whatever else could be said about Tom, he normally kept a flawless record and persona in class and the public. With Evans, some of that unshakeable composition slipped, revealing more than cool exteriors.

There was almost a draw between them, a pull, like magnets.  
It was disturbing.

Tom Riddle never connected with anyone, not really, and so it was absolutely terrifying that he was doing so now with a time traveler who seemed to have some form of past history with the prefect. It didn't bode well for the future.

It was probably just a passing fancy on Riddle's behalf, but that would only lead to Evans getting hurt and broken. The world didn't need more hurt, broken people, and he was sure the poor child had done nothing to deserve it.

It didn't seem like Riddle was getting bored though, and maybe that worried him more.  
Though they'd hardly spoken to each other under his watch, it was more than evident that they were fully aware of each the whole time, and there was a clash of intenseness present even when they were supposedly not interacting.

Oh, they were studiously looking away from each other, paying no attention, but the awareness was there in the way they were starting to automatically shift around each other's proximity, like two planets circling in and out of each other's gravity, balanced on the knife-edge before crashing.

An opposing force to Tom Riddle was an excellent thing, but, only if it remained that - opposing.  
He didn't know. He just didn't know.

He just didn't like it.

* * *

"You're late."  
Harry skidded into the room, slamming the door shut behind him, scowling.

"A wizard is never late," Harry replied, before he could help himself. Tom stared at him.

"You're late," he repeated, tightly.

"Your clock's wrong," Harry returned, flashing a dazzling smile, dropping down onto a seat, arms folded. "Are you going to start or waste time bickering with me?"

Tom's eyes narrowed, but after a moment he merely smiled back.

"Glad to see you're so eager, darling," he drawled. "How about we start on Defence Against the Dark Arts? It seems to be your, ah, forte after all."

Crap. Duelling - at least that was what he assumed the other had planned. Fabulous. He'd 'duelled' Voldemort before, but he wasn't sure trading one spell, dodging and running really classified as duelling the Dark Lord, and he'd seen Tom's spellwork in class.

This was going to be...painful.

There was no way he would be able to keep up, everyone talked about how brilliant Riddle was, how powerful and talented. He was, well, sure, he was best at Defence in his own time - the best in their class - but considering the largely incompetent nature of most of the teacher's he'd had that wasn't as reassuring as it initially seemed.

Oh well. He wasn't going to back down, was he? So he figured he'd just give it his best shot.

"And yours, I believe, though I suspect more on the other end of the spectrum," he murmured, eyeing the other. Tom's eyes gleamed.

"You only suspect? My, I'm disappointed, sweetheart. Clearly I failed somewhere in life."

Harry resisted the urge to twitch at the continued use of couple-ish nicknames, but merely grinned at Riddle, brazenly.

"Oh you failed a lot, rumour has it that's mostly my doing, but I'm sure you'll forgive me for not apologising for the inconvenience."

The next second a barrage of curses were flying in his direction, and his eyes widened as he automatically dodged, heart pounding, immediately fighting back.

He could instantly tell that duelling Tom was different to duelling training dummies on his own in the room of requirement. There was no exaggeration, the other was an outstanding duellist.

His previous memories of fighting the prefect were hazed, leading to their coma, and once again he found himself with the intent awareness that a single miscalculation or misstep on his behalf would lead to defeat.

They darted around each other, testing boundaries this time, searching out flaws and cracks in armour. He thought he was doing...okay. He wasn't disarmed within the first minute, at least, which he'd kind of been worried about.

Then Tom switched to Parseltongue.

He brought up a shield, hastily, as normal, only this time the spell just went past it and broke his ribs with a sickening crack. The next second his wand was out of his hands, in Riddle's, and before he could process he was humiliatingly sprawled across the floor.

The Slytherin Heir smiled all too pleasantly, circling him like a vulture around prey.  
He shifted to get up, only for a polished shoe to dig into chest, causing his rib to shift backwards, almost scraping against his lung.

Feeling utterly sick, he stopped the attempt, lying down, glaring up at the other. Tom stared down at him, appraisingly.

"What do you know of parselmagic, Harry?" Riddle questioned, mildly.

"Parselmagic?" he repeated, blankly. He'd never heard of the damned thing. Tom's smile broadened.

"Fascinating skill for those who have the talent, can't be blocked by normal spells..." the other trailed off, eyes still glittering with a strange mischief. "Just a pity you seem to lack it." The foot was abruptly gone from his ribs, and the other was sitting elegantly next to him. "You're duelling skills need work; there's potential there, but you're woefully underdeveloped in your repertoire."

Harry blinked at the seeming change of topic, but didn't trust it, moving to sit up again. Riddle's fingers skated warningly across his ribs, but this time he sat up anyway. If Riddle was going to kill him, he would kill him, and Harry certainly wasn't going to lie down pathetically for him to do it.

He didn't quite know what to say in response, but it didn't seem to matter because Tom was continuing either way with only the smallest of pauses, studying him with an almost open curiosity.

"I would have thought you'd have more training," Tom murmured, "seeing as you seem to have something of a recurring history with my elder self."

Harry honestly didn't know what to say to that either, though his brow furrowed marginally at the comment.

"Training?"

Tom shot him a look.

"Yes, training," he said, rolling his eyes. "Some form of protection, defence - anything. You're clearly largely self taught, which I wager is what you've been disappearing off to do...did your precious light side not give you any assistance on the matter?"

Harry's mouth suddenly felt dry, and there was an awkward tension in his shoulders and stomach. Tom's head tilted.

"My, my," the young Dark Lord purred. "They didn't. Oh, you poor little sacrificial lamb, this is just...quaint. How are you still alive? Aside from what appears to be an ability to rebound killing curses, of course."

"Luck," Harry stated flatly, really not fancying this discussion. Riddle's lips twisted, and their gazes locked.

"Luck runs out," Tom said, very softly, his fingers digging in painfully again for a moment.  
Harry just shrugged in response. He _knew_, merlin, he knew that.

"Clearly, otherwise I doubt I'd be here stuck with you," he replied, snidely. Tom laughed, quietly, not without menace.

"What if I said I could teach you how to duel properly?"

"And why would you do that?" Harry demanded, suspiciously.

"My unshakeable honour and sense of fair play," Riddle deadpanned.

"You don't seem the type to treat your own _followers_ fairly, let alone your enemies. So I'll repeat, why would you do that?" his tone was fierce, but Riddle merely smirked at him once again.

"Are you my enemy then, Harry?" he questioned, with a bizarre mixture of amusement and gravity. "My very own future arch-nemesis?" Harry gritted his teeth, looking away, and Tom laughed again. Harry scowled, not seeing what was so damn entertaining.

His ribs hurt, and Tom's fingers were still resting and skating across the injured area - idle for now, put fully able to cause pain at any given second, as shown by the way they would occasionally dip, dangerously close to making him puncture a lung.

"Are you going to return my wand or not?" he snapped.

"Why, are you feeling threatened?" Tom replied. The touch, paradoxically, became teasingly feather-light.

"Bit hard to get tutored on defence against the dark arts when I don't have a wand."

Riddle stared at him.

"Does this mean you're accepting my offer?" he asked.

Harry thought about it.  
Cons - Tom learnt about his capabilities and he was forced to spend time with the other...although, technically, he was being forced to do that anyway. He was also opening himself up to getting the crap beaten out of him like today, and giving the other to opportunity to study him more.

Pros - he learnt more about Tom and Tom's capabilities, "know thy enemy" as the Slytherin himself had stated what seemed so long ago and he learnt how to defend himself better (what could a second opinion hurt?) It wasn't like he couldn't back off at any time he wanted, or that there was an obligation between them, was it?

"Considering there are no other catches, and if there are, I'm not agreeing to them - why not?"  
Ultimately, it was worse to not use the opportunities and resources granted to him, when they could help himself survive at some point.

"Excellent. What do you feel about dark magic, golden boy?"

* * *

A/N: Mercy, it's something! :) *comes out waving white flags.*

Thanks for all the reviews, you are awesome! :D Figured I had to do something admist English and Philosophy revision!

Still not slash as far as I'm concerned...if FF isn't, PP certainly isn't :P


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter 17:

Harry stared for a moment, unbelieving that Tom had just come out with such a statement, so openly.

Of course, Tom knew perfectly well Harry already knew about his 'darker' side, but it was still at complete odds with the model student persona the Slytherin played with for the rest of his day.

"I hate it," he replied, fiercely, eyeing Riddle. "I think it's vile and evil."

Tom looked at him for a few moments.

"You have had some training then," he murmured, a vicious smile twisting his lips.

"What?" Harry's brow furrowed, confused.

"Well, I say training..." Tom corrected himself lightly. "Indoctrination, might seem a more fitting word."

Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he strongly had to resist the urge to punch Riddle across the face again, his jaw tightening, his shoulders tensed.

"I am not indoctrinated," Harry stated firmly, icily. Riddle didn't seem fazed, merely patting his cheek, that awful gleam in his eyes.

"Sure you're not, pet."

That name did have him punching, and the next second Riddle had reacted too, catching the fist and twisting his arm behind his back, simultaneously twisting him so Harry's back rested against Tom's chest.

"First rule of proper defence against the dark arts," Riddle murmured. "Whilst fast and spontaneous attacks can often work to your advantage, attacking on ridiculous notions of sentiment and without a clear head is never good. Did I touch a nerve?"

"I'm not your bloody pet, and I'm not indoctrinated! It's the Dark Side who does that, not the li-"

"-I wasn't asking for your opinion on the dark side, Harry," Tom interrupted, smoothly. "I was asking for your opinion on dark magic."

"What's the difference?" Harry scoffed. Tom's grip tightened slightly.

"And therein lies the indoctrination," he said, quietly. "Now, can I let go of you, or are you going to attempt to punch me again? I demand respect as your teacher here, but if you feel you can't...ah...control yourself, I will simply break your arm to make it easier for you."

Harry stiffened. He could control himself! He gritted his teeth, with the reluctant acknowledgement that Riddle had just hit a bullseye.

"You can let go of me," he said coolly. He was released instantly, shoved away again, and Tom returned to surveying him, continuing almost as if nothing had happened.

"On the subject of your indoctrination, such a response clearly suggests you know little to nothing about the true meaning of the dark, and the dark arts," Tom stated.

"You would say that," Harry muttered. Riddle shot him a warning look, before that too faded, and his head tilted.

"Define Dark Magic, Harry," he instructed with an unexpected patience. "What's the difference between dark and light magic, aside from the names?"

"One's good and one's bad," he said, automatically, before pausing, actually thinking about it. His eyes flickered, and he met Tom's gaze. The other offered him a not-particularly nice smile.

"Would you say dark chocolate is evil?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry muttered, feeling a headache building.

"Then you can understand that dark does not equate to evil, if one was to simplistically and childishly assume evil even exists?"

Harry frowned marginally. Of course evil existed, he'd seen it. It was called Voldemort. Nonetheless, he could perhaps concede the first point...possibly. Maybe.

"Dark magic and dark chocolate are very different things."

"And we're back to what Dark Magic is. Tell me," Tom instructed, studying him almost lazily.

Harry scowled.

"I don't know," he admitted, barely audibly. Tom's eyebrows rose, a smirk capturing his lips.

"What was that, Evans?" he purred. Harry's scowl only deepened.

"You tell me, Riddle. What is Dark Magic then?"

"Dark Magic is magic that is spurred by dark emotions like anger or hatred, as opposed to Light Magic which is catalysed by lighter emotions, like happiness, or hope."

"...and that makes Dark Magic more negative," Harry argued, after thinking for a moment on the definition. "Being consumed by hatred and bitterness is not a good reason for doing something."

"It's nothing to with intentions," the Slytherin Heir returned. "It's just what you're using to power your magic. Yes, perhaps that creates more of an offensive magic base in Dark Arts, but does that make it worse or 'evil'?" Tom questioned. "I believe not. You can use Dark Magic to protect your friends, and to heal people, while powering your spells with 'negative' emotions as much as you can use Light Arts to cause damage and pain."

"Yeah, except surely the negative emotions make it negative over-all?" Harry questioned, brow furrowed. "The Unforgivables are Unforgiveable for a reason. They're certainly not good."

"You're one of those people who insist on degrading everything into an ethical issue, aren't you," Tom muttered, darkly, before shaking his head. "Say I indulge your pointless morality for a moment, and we take an intentions based view on magic as you're insisting, instead of looking at this from the purely magical basis...what if one used the Imperious curse to save someone's life? Get a man with a fear of heights to jump to safety despite his phobia? Would that make the Imperious curse 'good' or 'evil'."

Harry thought for a few moments; this would suggest a good intention in the spell, and a good consequence, but the action itself still wasn't good in itself - surely stripping someone of their free will was never good?

"The unforgiveables are called so," Tom continued, watching his expression closely, "because there is always an inherent immorality to them, or what is by society traditionally considered an immorality."

"But you disagree with that," Harry noted.

"I disagree with the notion of morality, and don't follow any outside of what benefits me the most in any given scenario," Tom dismissed. "Morals are society's oppression, and I don't like limitations. I have no morality, and so thus such matters are of no concern to me. This illustrates how unforgiveables are an anomaly within the Dark Arts, which is why they are categorized differently...within most dark magic, there is nothing inherently bad within it to make it any worse or 'viler' than light magic."

"But surely when your spells are powered by hatred-" Harry began, frustrated, bewildered.

"Magic is like any other tool, if you want to look at it morally," Riddle interrupted. "Dark and Light are just different ways of using it, and the ethics of the method depend entirely upon the person and whichever moral system one desires to apply."

Harry felt shaken, as if his entire worldview had just been tossed, scattered and ripped apart. He stared straight ahead, his gaze distant. Why didn't they teach this in first year? If it was such basic knowledge? He wasn't sure if he trusted Riddle's words.

Tom was continuing again:

"There are very few examples of straight light spells, or straight dark spells. Normally, it is more varied than that. One notable example, however, would be the Patronus Charm, which is powered by the 'light' feeling of happiness. Yet, consider, what if your happy memory is of destroying a Dementor entirely? Or of committing a murder?"

Harry frowned, thoughtfully.

"Or," Tom said, "there's a dark spell called Transire Vulnus, it's a healing spell powered by vengeance. It transfers the injury from the 'victim' to a person of your choice. Healing is 'good' is it not? Protecting your allies is generally not considered an 'evil' thing?"

"Yes, I get it," Harry cut in, tersely, when Riddle seemed about to continue once again with no doubt many more examples. "Light does not necessarily equal good. Dark does not necessarily equal bad. It's just different...fuel."

Tom had a self-satisfied gleam in his eyes.

"Exactly. Therefore, I'll repeat, how do you feel about Dark Magic? And learning it?"

Harry was silent for a minute.

"If this is the only difference...and I will be researching this, because you could be lying...how come Dark Magic is so stigmatized? Surely people know this? So why is Dark Magic so banned in comparison?"

"Because it's powerful, and the people who are the best at it tend to be of a darker character, and use it for darker ends. Dark Wizards don't tend to have led the kindest of lives, their magic is fuelled by pain."

Riddle's eyes met his, intently.

"You may be on the Light side, Harry Potter, but you most certainly are not a light wizard."

"I can cast a Patronus," Harry bit out, before he could stop himself. "I'm a light wizard."

"Most people don't swing entirely one way or another," Tom dismissed. "Your dark magic will probably be far superior. Is it smoky?"

"It's a stag," Harry said coldly, his mind spinning. He was Light. Of course he was Light, wasn't he? "It has been since I was thirteen."

Tom froze on the spot, staring at him.

"You've been able to cast a corporeal patronus since you were thirteen?"

"Corporeal?"

"It has a distinct shape," Tom clarified.

"Yeah," Harry said. "So? I told you I was a light wizard." Tom was still staring at him, his head tilting. "I guess you had me figured out wrong then," Harry added. "Does that bother you?"

"The incantation is Transire Vulnus. Heal your ribs," Riddle ordered curtly, eyes hard. Harry's eyebrows arched.

"You want me to cast Dark magic. Desperate to prove your point, are we? You could just admit you made a mistake."

"If you're so sure of yourself, cast the spell," Tom challenged in return. Harry scowled.

"And if I refuse?"

"...then come fifty years, I promise I will break the ribs of the first one of your friends I come across," Riddle smiled sweetly. Harry glared.

"...what's the wand movement?" he ground out, reluctantly, heart pounding. Tom's expression seemed to lighten again as he showed him. Harry couldn't help but - grudgingly - note that he was a good teacher, and that he seemed to be enjoying it at least in part.

"You do realise I'm going to be switching the injury onto you?" he questioned. Tom shot him a 'you are an idiot, don't be so obvious' sort of look. Harry rolled his eyes, before summoning all the easily available desires for vengeance he had for Voldemort and Riddle, casting.

The next second, Riddle gave the barest hiss of pain, and his gaze snapped to the other. He'd...actually done it.

"First go, impressive," Tom breathed, smirking at him, though there was a strange edge to it. Harry's hand move to his ribs, automatically. No injury. Completely healed.

This time, it was Harry who'd frozen. He'd cast Dark Magic. And...it had felt... natural. His wand clattered from his hands, and Riddle laughed.

"Feel good?" the Slytherin Heir purred, still calmly seated. Harry grabbed his wand, leaping to his feet.

"I'm not doing this," he said flatly, unnerved.

Everything was upside down and wrong and...and he'd always been light. He couldn't be a Dark Wizard! Even under this new definition, he...dark magic sounded consuming. It held a predisposition towards being on the Dark side...he...whatever Tom said, indulging these types of emotions was dangerous.

The worst part was how good it had felt, just as good as Light Magic.

"No better than Light Magic," he said stubbornly. Well, the Patronus. He wasn't aware that he'd specifically dabbled in any other light magic. Most the stuff they were taught seemed pretty neutral.  
Tom's eyes narrowed.

"You honestly feel no distinction between light and dark magic? That's impossible. Unless-" Riddle went still.

"Unless?" Harry prompted. The Slytherin Heir stood too, smoothly, flicking a wand with an unnerving casualness at his own ribs, fixing his own injuries. Harry felt rather uneducated. He didn't like it.

Healing spells - next on his list. Even if Riddle was 'tutoring' him, he'd work in his own time too, just to not be so horrendously at a disadvantage. He loathed the feeling of Riddle beating him, of having an easy victory, of himself being weak in comparison.

He wanted to be able to win.

"Next lesson tomorrow. Transfiguration," Tom said, with a sudden curtness. It was...disconcerting. He blinked at the mood swing, and Riddle had strode out the classroom without even a snarky comment.

He wasn't worried, it was just that...well...Riddle always made some form of parting shot, a taunt. That he wasn't didn't bode well.

The big question was whether he'd done something wrong, or something right.

* * *

Tom frowned, striding away from the room.

Harrison didn't fit. He clearly had a talent for Dark Arts in that he'd managed to cast the spell on his first try, which was only exacerbated by how he hadn't done any other Dark Arts before, presumably.

He was a natural at it.

But he could cast a corporeal Patronus.  
Grey.

He'd read about Grey Wizards of course, but true Grey Wizards were extremely rare - or, at least, any Grey Lords. There were lots of Grey Wizards, most people were on the spectrum of light and dark rather than one or the other. But Grey Lords...  
Harry was powerful enough to be one, though he needed more evidence.

He wasn't entirely sure, but the possibility was there - which was more than he'd ever come across before.

One thing was certainly clear though - the light side were not allowed to keep him.

He needed to plan.

* * *

**_A/N: I sincerely apologise for this chapter. Next one will be better, I promise! It's a bit of a filler, I suppose, though an important filler._**

**_Anyway, thanks for the reviews 3 Much love!_**


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter 18:

Lestrange stood with Mulciber at the corner of the main courtyard, stamping his feet against the chill that seeped through his warming charms. His face was twisted into a vicious scowl that had people staying well away from him, warily.

He was one of Tom's elite, his favourite, after all. That demanded a certain respect.  
Or, it did from most people anyway.

Harrison bloody Evans didn't seem to be picking up on how things worked in Slytherin; it was bitterly unfair.

The rest of them had all had to work their way up, prove themselves after months and months of hard effort, years even, but Evans had just skipped all of that. It was utterly infuriating. He didn't deserve it!

"What's so special about him anyway?" he muttered, resentfully. "Nothing, that's what!"

"Well, he's not scared of Tom," Mulciber returned, with some unease, eyes darting about edgily, shoulders slumped and hands buried in his pockets.

"Yes," Lestrange sneered, "that's because he's a bloody moron. Don't tell me you're suddenly joining his fan club too, Mulciber?" His eyes had turned cold.

"No, 'course not," Mulciber mumbled. "I just think it would be...prudent, to tread carefully. He belongs to Tom, after-" the dirty-blonde haired boy cut off when Lestrange's hand was suddenly at his throat, eyes glinting ominously. "Get your hands off me Lestrange, or I'll find some better company...Malfoy, perhaps?"

Cygnus' eyes narrowed, but after a second, his hand slid away from Mulciber's throat, who made a show of straightening his shirt and tie out again.

"I know you don't like his affiliation with Riddle" he proceeded, albeit more carefully now, though more with a sort of sulky wariness than the true fear that would have been present in Tom's presence. "But you can't deny it. At least for now, Evans is kinda untouchable, even if one disregards his apparent duelling skills. He's Riddle's project, not ours. You'll need his permission to do anything...unless you fancy acting without his...guidance?"

"Oddly enough, I think I know what /Tom/ likes far better than you," Lestrange replied sweetly. "You agreed with me before your apparent change of heart, that Evans needed to be taken down a couple of notches...unless you think he is worthy and deserving of our Lord's attentions?"

"...no, of course not," Mulciber muttered, after a moment. "But, well, it's Riddle's decision, isn't it?"

"You're a coward," Lestrange said coldly. "A useless coward. When I best Harrison Evans, the rest of you will be sorry. I thought I may have been able to rely on your assistance, but it seems not."

"What are you going to do?" Mulciber asked cautiously, shifting uneasily from one foot to another, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders to ward off the biting wind. "You going to ask Tom for permission -?"

Lestrange simply smirked.  
"Tom only plays until his toys are broken."

* * *

Tom had been 'testing' and 'teaching' him all week and Harry was absolutely exhausted. Yet, perhaps strangely, it was a good type of exhaustion - an intoxicating exhilaration, because Tom never gave up, and allowed no room for surrender or anything less than everything Harry could give.

It was, well, it was like nothing Harry had ever been witness to before; it almost reminded him of Hermione, except Tom was more ruthless and had this way of motivating him which Hermione had never had.

It reminded him, again, of the danger of Tom versus Voldemort , (and when had he even started making a distinction?) Voldemort ruled by fear, and whilst Tom appeared to do that to to some extent, the true threat of Tom was that he made you want to impress him. It pissed Harry off completely, but he couldn't help but acknowledge that Tom spurned the sentiment in everyone - himself included.

He'd never minded Hermione beating him, but with Tom, the same thing infuriated him. Maybe because Tom was annoyingly good at everything.

The point was; Tom made Harry desperate and determined to match him, to not lose and be the weaker, the inferior. It pushed him to work even harder, when all serious dangers seemed initially distant.

The intense concentration and absolute focus Tom was dedicating to the whole matter was unnerving and somewhat...addictive. It was terrifying. He really didn't like it - or rather, he didn't like that he may have liked the feeling a little bit.

That was probably how Death Eaterism began, and the thought made him shudder, sick.  
Never.  
He refused.

Despite all of this, the one thing Harry wasn't consequently soaring ahead in under both his own training and Riddle's tutelage, was Dark Arts.

He couldn't quite get himself to do it - a fact which seemed to aggravate and madden Tom to the extreme.

When Harry had tried to suggest the initial spell success had been a fluke, and that he was in fact a Light Wizard, he'd ended up with the Slytherin Heir's fingers wrapped rather alarmingly around his throat.

Duelling momentarily stepped aside for physical tussling again, before Riddle seemed to gain control of his unequivocally violent temper once more.

Harry's heart was still hammering minutes later, and Tom had in turn become chillingly courteous, though he in no way denied or expressed regret for his actions.

Indeed, his eyes had positively gleamed instead.

Now, however, the spark had shadowed to a dak burn.

"You're conflicted," the young Dark Lord stated, almost randomly.

"Excuse me?" Harry demanded lowly, before scowling. He'd meant 'what'. Not excuse me. Bloody hell, the purebloods were rubbing off on him...

Riddle stared at him.

"What do you want to do with your life, Harry?" the other asked, too softly.

Harry's brow furrowed with confusion, not seeing the link between the question and the Dark Arts Tom was trying to teach him.

The Slytherin Heir repeated the question, moving closer to him, a smirk caressing his lips when Harry automatically stepped back, before holding still.

"I-I don't," he began, bewildered. Tom cut in, seemingly only waiting for him to speak.

"Do you wish to continue being the light side's little lamb?" Riddle took yet another step closer.  
"The Golden Boy, largely untainted and pure on his pedestal? Trapped and chained by the bars of innocence and the cage of everyone else's expectations?"

There was barely a foot between them now, and Riddle - nearly uncharacteristically - refrained from closing the gap, arms tucking neatly behind his back instead.

Harry couldn't have looked away, even if he wanted to, and Tom didn't remove his gaze either...he didn't even blink.

"What do you want to do with your life, Harry?" he asked for the third, and Harry suspected the final, time. All of a sudden he realised the link between the question and the Dark Arts.

Before, when he'd accepted the offer of learning, he'd thought of it as an entirely logical thing, pros and cons influenced by Riddle's own logical and matter of fact approach to the topic.

He hadn't even considered the lifestyle implications, the way using the Dark Arts changed his identity - 'the Gryffindor Golden Boy' - completely.

On some level, he'd clung to it, and to the belief he was essentially and fundamentally light, and so obviously hadn't been able to cast the spells...he hadn't allowed himself to.

It was eerie, disconcerting, that Tom had picked up on this when he himself hadn't.

In the same way, Riddle seemed to intuitively realise when he had reached this conclusion, because he continued as if he hadn't paused to allow Harry's thoughts to assimilate with his own.

"I once told you that you wanted to fall," Tom murmured. "I also said that the monsters in the dark were waiting to pull you down, but...whilst this is undeniably true, I'm not going to grant you the mercy of dragging you into my world, darling. It's your choice, will you jump?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. All week, Tom had been asserting a relentless effort into controlling him, shaping him. For the other to suddenly step back was jarring.

A second later, his fists clenched, because he realise Riddle wasn't truly handing over control at all, not really.

He doubted the young Dark Lord ever would. This was...conditioning. Deliberately giving him the decisions he didn't want, and the rope with which to hang himself; all bundled up and presented in the velvet allure of power.

"Nice try," he replied, finally. "Not going to work. I know what you're trying to do."

"I'd have been disappointed if you didn't," Tom smirked. Harry paused. The smirk broadened.. "People say we fear falling, which is why heights frighten us...but when we are perfectly in control of our motor functions, and there are safeguards to prevent us from falling, such a fear would seem irrational." Riddle studied him for a moment. "We don't fear falling, Harry, we fear jumping...our desire to fall."

"And you still think I want to fall?" Harry laughed.

Riddle raised his eyebrows.  
"You're here, aren't you?" The other finally moved, holding out a hand, as if to shake. "So, my dear, still the Golden Boy?"

Feeling ridiculous, Harry took the proffered hand after a moment - there had never really been another choice, had there? - and Tom shot him a blinding grin, a whispered incantation. The next second, the Slytherin Heir had spun them both, so Harry's wand was snapping out.

The spell was successful.

What had before been a crack in his persona, splintered and burst open.  
Harry swallowed, staring at the destroyed training dummy.

"Very good," Tom purred. Then, he was walking away, with that smug nonchalance that implied he'd got everything that he wanted, and Harry had behaved just as Tom thought he would.

Harry's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing, and he snapped a spell out again - despite how Tom whipped around to block, startled, this too hit its target.

Solidly.

Riddle crashed to the ground, and Harry sauntered over, crouching.

"If I want to fall, what are you, the already fallen, but a boy who wants to be something higher, a god? Why else would you magpie 'gold' for your own design?" he questioned.

They stared at each other, and, for a split second, Harry was about to hold out a hand.

He walked out the training room instead, to the sound of Riddle's laughter ringing so unnervingly in his ears.

* * *

_A/N: Apologies for the long wait, been working on novel stuff, and then I've been away without an internet connection so I couldn't update. I know this isn't my longest chapter, and once again, potentially fillery (though I rather like it) but yeah, peace offering? Haha. I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for all the reviews :)  
_


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter 19:

"Harry, isn't it?" came a voice.  
Harry looked up, slightly startled to have his space and privacy intruded into by someone who wasn't Tom Riddle.

His current 'visitor' was only marginally more welcome, and, if possible - not that he wouldn't admit to it - ultimately more unwelcome than the Slytherin Heir if he wasn't judging merely on principle.

"Lestrange," he greeted, curtly. "What do you want?"

"I wanted to apologise, I think we got off on the wrong foo-"

"And the real reason you're here?" Harry interrupted, eyebrows arching. "Skip the pleasantries, we both know they're fake."

Lestrange's jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring with annoyance. Harry offered him a disarming, somewhat goading grin in response, though his eyes remained cold.

He'd heard what the Lestrange's had done, and the boy had previously made no effort whatsoever to be friendly to him; this was just suspicious.

"You don't really seem to understand how things work in Slytherin, Evans," the other said icily, sounding marginally disgruntled.

"Neither do you, if you show your emotions so plainly. What is it you want, and maybe we can come to some form of agreement?" Harry offered, honestly just wanting to be left in peace. He found dancing around the issue boring, even he took the trading of information and skills easily enough.

Lestrange stared at him, incredulously, though some of the disdain and contempt was starting to slip from his sneering lips...though Harry suspected that was more from shock than any real change of opinion.

"I don't want you muscling in with Tom and destroying the order of things here," the other replied, after a moment. "He'd only break your heart, anyway, Harry. It's in your best interests really-"

"Fine," Harry cut in again.

"-And I understand that he's quite compelling, but you're just a toy to-what?"  
"I said, fine, Lestrange," Harry repeated, rolling his eyes. "I have absolutely no problem with your demand, I have no intention of becoming part of your little group. If you can get him to back off, I welcome it."

Lestrange was still gaping at him, almost blankly, uncomprehendingly.

"You...want him to back off?" he questioned, disbelievingly. "Leave you alone?"

"Congratulations on being able to understand the bloody obvious," Harry replied flatly. "You in on helping me with that? You seem to do such a good job at repulsing him nowadays that you seemed a fitting person to go to for advice."

He could not afford to let Riddle find out more about the future, he just couldn't; he'd been studying the obliviate spell alone in the Room of Requirement, the previous night, and he thought he may have hit upon a possible solution to his problem.

If he could get Tom to forget all about the future, and view him as nothing, or some toy already broken however degrading and galling that was personally, then the timeline would be safe...wouldn't it?

He just needed Riddle to ease up a bit, and not do that intent, studying thing all the time, so he actually had a reasonable chance of success.

He wasn't stupid, tendency to get too close etc aside, Riddle was still wary of him, especially now. He'd laughed off Harry's attack, but those eyes had grown dark and calculating.

As satisfying as winning was, he mostly couldn't quite afford to put all of his effort into it as his success in any battle only increased Riddle's interest - it was like a catch 22.

Losing meant Riddle's aims were furthered, and the Slytherin Heir found out more about Harry and the future...but winning meant Riddle's determination to discover things and Harry's aims of obscurity on a long term basis were obliterated, as much as the the short term success was satisfying.

"I don't repulse him!" Lestrange hissed, furiously. "How dare you - you insolent little brat-" the other made a noticeable effort to calm himself, a mask sliding onto his features, unreadable.

Interesting, it seemed Tom was a push button; but then, all of the baby Death Eaters were unhealthily obsessed with the young Dark Lord.

"I accept your amended proposal," Lestrange continued stiffly. "It seems we are of a similar goal after all." His face relaxed a little bit, after a moment. "You're not so bad afterall, Evans."

"You mean you don't view me as a threat to your position anymore," Harry corrected, rolling his eyes. He couldn't say the same about Lestrange, he still found the boy to be utterly insufferable, even if he'd become potentially useful too. "Have you any interest-sabotaging suggestions then?"

Lestrange cleared his throat, before reaching into his pocket and passing over a...ring.  
Harry made no movement to take it, and so Lestrange simply placed it on the library table between them with an irritated clink.

"It's got a subtle repulsion spell on it," the other explained, tersely. "Geared towards Tom. If you wear it, he should subtly begin to leave you alone. Not suddenly, but his interest in you will begin to drop."

Harry looked at it for a moment.

"And how were you initially planning on getting me to wear that?" he asked, a bit too pleasantly.  
Lestrange flushed, but offered him a slightly more discerning look.

"You're not as stupid as you look."

"You are," Harry returned, "if you think I would ever accept something like that from you." His brow furrowed, and he tried to tone down his automatic hostility to the name 'Lestrange' a little bit. "...no offence."

"Well considering I don't look stupid, I'll take that as a compliment to my stunning intellectual capabilities," Lestrange snapped, fists balling, before shaking his head. "Do you know how to cast the repulsion charm yourself then?"

"You could teach me," Harry allowed. Lestrange's nose wrinkled, seemingly with disgust, at the very thought.

"I don't like teaching," he replied. "So I guess you'll just have to take the ring."

"Do you have any other suggestions aside from spellwork?"

"Well, I'd suggest acting like you normally do should be deterrent enough, but for some strange reason he seems to find you fascinating and actually like you."

"Second perhaps, I highly doubt the git likes anyone."

Lestrange looked highly offended and disgruntled by that statement, and Harry had to resist the urge to roll his eyes again.

"...except you...? Of course," he added. The other appeared fractionally appeased, though he still eyed Harry with a sort of suspicion.

"I'm his favourite."

And that was what this whole thing was about, wasn't it? Or, at least, Harry thought that was what it was about. Slytherin Politics was a mind screw, there were so many different layers going on, though the one he himself seemed to be getting repeatedly tangled in one was the issue of Tom Riddle and the apparent power and influence of such an association.

Harry would have rather made his own name, then ever clutched to the 'glorious' coat tails of the young Dark Lord.

"Let's pray it stays that way," Harry replied. "Solutions, now, if you want to be useful. I'd try another personality switch, but he'd suspect it now."

"You should have just been yourself in the first place, and not tried for mystery," Lestrange sneered. Harry actually did roll his eyes this time.

"My plans backfired. I was going for pathetic and insignificant."

"Oh, that didn't backfire," Lestrange said. Harry scowled. "Nonetheless, I'll concede to your point," the other continued. "A personality won't do anything, not in the way you were-" the Slytherin cut off, expression suddenly frozen, eyes dark with unhappy thoughts.

Harry studied the other for a moment, before tossing a book at the other, impatiently.

"In the way I was-?" he prompted. Lestrange just shook his head, after a few seconds, dismissively.

"Doesn't matter. Have you considered using notice-me-not charms? Or you know, simply leaving, or even finding other friends."

And then Harry caught up, eyes widening.

"I'm different - interesting to him - because I'm trying to blend, be insignificant...if I start acting like you...trying to get closer...he'll get bored, and leave me alone!"

Perfect.

"I don't think that would work," Lestrange replied firmly. "He'd see through it immediately, and you could get caught up in something you don't want to get caught up in."

"No," Harry corrected, "you just don't want me to try because it involves not immediately fulfilling your desire to have me not mess up the 'natural order' or whatever."

"I could just tell him what you're trying to do," Lestrange reminded.

"Well, yeah...you could, but that would scupper our mutual long term benefit quite significantly, wouldn't it?"

Lestrange glared at him, eyes narrowed, lips pursed.  
Harry offered him a blinding grin.

"Teach me how to be a realistic groupie, Cygnus."

* * *

Tom looked up, more startled and surprised than he'd care to admit when Harry not only stayed in the Common Room that Friday night, after his normal disappearing act, but, indeed, approached his table.

He was immediately wary, wondering what the game was, and what the other wanted.

The boy had his normal brazen attitude, as shown by the fact he was approaching at all without care to the normal system within their house. No one approached Tom, he called them over or indicated his desire for their presence in some manner, they never just came up to him.

"You guys mind if I sit down with you?" Harry asked, smiling.  
At least he was asking permission; but somehow that still didn't sit right in his guts.

His associates stared at Harry stonily, waiting for his approval or disapproval.

"Not at all," he replied, barely missing a beat despite the unexpectedness of the occurrence. "Cygnus, Abraxas, move up," he instructed, with a careless gesture.

Their faces tightened marginally, but they did as told without comment - of course they did. They would never dare disobey him.

Harry sat down, and despite how he appeared externally confident, Tom could see the discomfort in his eyes at being here...so why was he?

"So, Harry, what brings you to my corner of the world again?" he asked, smiling. "I'd been led to believe it would be an unusual occurrence."

The boy seemed to be resisting gritting his teeth, though his face remained expressionless enough, fixed in a vague pleasantness.

"I don't know anyone else in Slytherin really, and had the odd compulsion to be sociable. Don't worry, it disturbs me too," Harry replied dryly.

He eyed the other for a moment, studying him closely, gaze flicking across the rest of his followers too for any hints of foul play or conspiracy.

They stopped on Lestrange for a moment. The boy wasn't protesting nearly as much as he normally did to Evans presence...and while he could have been learning, Tom personally doubted it and was always more likely to err towards suspicion.

"Indeed. I told you that you'd get dragged into my world, darling," he murmured, lightly enough.

"Maybe I'm just here to sabotage you," Harry smirked, so brightly and tauntingly that he couldn't help but suspect an ulterior motive...but was this a persona to deceive? Or an honest answer given on the assumption he would assume persona? His eyes narrowed.

"I would simply love to see you try, pet," he returned. Harry looked about ready to punch him for the name, but, instead of his eyes darting away as he struggled to control his temper, his eyes didn't move. No, his gaze stayed fixed on Tom, almost too fixed, as if he was deliberately not looking elsewhere...

But then, he didn't tend to stare at Harry too...  
His eyes gleamed as he felt another game start to come along, because he didn't think for one second Harry was here for anything less than his own end game and aims. There was too much fire in him, and too much at stake.

But one day he'd be coming to Tom just because he wanted to, because he was desperate for his attention just like everyone else.

It was an almost regrettable victory, but a victory nonetheless and he would never settle for anything less.

"I'll take that as a challenge," Harry smirked.  
"By all means, if you have no objection to failing miserably," Tom dipped his head, in a mockery of courtesy. They regarded each other for a moment.

And then the conversation moved on, and he kept a careful control of it.

It was only later, much later, when the atmosphere had relaxed but for the smallest levels and spikes of tension in the room. He privately thought Harry made quite addition to his little group, especially on the scant few moments or so when he seemed to actually enjoy himself genuinely with the exchange of quips.

Then he would refer to an even greater level of ice, guardedness, and false ease.

However, whilst he took satisfaction from seeing his latest project smoothing out nicely, his favourite part was still when he yanked all comfort away as they were all finally departing for bed for the night.

Of course, he didn't know Harry's specific plan, but judging by his previous attempts, it was easy enough to guess.

"Risky tactic, sweetheart, pretending to enjoy my company...you might just find the lies become you."

Harry stilled for a moment, before his head turned to face Tom, eyebrow raised.

"I could say the same about you letting me close, Riddle. You're opening yourself up for attack."

"No one gets truly close to me," Tom chuckled, softly. They thought they did, they all thought they were the ones who had something of him that no one else did, that they were special, but they were all just putty in his hands.

"None of them do," Harry replied, equally softly. "But I'm not one of _them_, am I? I know you, Tom Riddle, and I know what you become and everything you're capable of."

His amusement drained at the words, and he eyed the other, like a snake weighing up its opponent in battle.

"Interesting assumption."

"Fact, actually," Harry corrected mildly.

"Can you get close to me without my working you out though, Evans?" he dared. "That's why you're here today...to get close to me, isn't it?"  
He wasn't quite sure how that linked into Potter's plans, but he was determined to find out, and would either way bluff absolute confidence and omniscience.

Harry remained stoic, but his eyes flicked involuntarily . He'd played the Lion he'd been for so long - bless.

"We'll see," Harry shrugged, turning away from him once more.  
Tom smiled thinly.

It was odd to be playing when the two of them were both so intently aware of the board being there, but, in a way, all the more fun for it...

He'd known this was going to be fun.

"Goodnight, Harrison."

* * *

_A/N: Not my best chapter, I will admit, but not too shabby either. Hope you enjoyed it :) Thanks for the reviews, this one's currently ranking as the story of mine that you would want to see the most of 3_

_Novel...still coming soon. I'm going to do a burst of stuff with it, tomorrow. It's currently getting proofread/edited etc. After that's done, I can publish in like day I think...we shall see. Anyway. Blood Lines, coming soon._


	21. Updated AN sorry!

So, my book has been published recently. Yay! :D I'm so happy! It's called Blood Lines.

**Blurb for Blood Lines:**

_In a world ruled by Underworld Variations, being human, an Overworld Variation, is not a good thing._

_Fifteen year old Susannah Skelsby knows this intimately. In a city of magic, torn and devastated by gang warfare and the seething undertones of civil upheaval and oppression, the best survival tactic is to keep her head down._

_Resistance is not tolerated, the Declarations are absolute, and the punishment for disobedience is death._

_She should have known better than to start breaking all the rules._

PS: It's a fantasy.

* * *

These are some links, if you're interested in buying it:

. /Blood-Lines-1-Simone-King/dp/1479242918/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1348944401&sr=8-1

Blood-Lines-Volume-Simone-King/dp/1479242918/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1348944550&sr=8-1&keywords=bloodlinessimoneking

. /Blood-Lines-Chronicles-Reflection-ebook/dp/B009JHCUVC/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1349014129&sr=1-2#_

Bottom one is kindle. You can also get it on Amazon Europe. :) Just type in "Blood Lines Simone King"

* * *

Feel free to PM me if you have any questions :)


	22. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Harry was in the Graveyard again, tied to the headstone of Tom Riddle sr, blood trickling hot and sticky down his arm and pain wracking his body as Voldemort circled his Death Eaters in a dark, serpentine glory. Those scarlet eyes burned into him, full of hate and a jarring ice.

He could remember the words as if they'd been spoken yesterday...thirteen years of disappointment...and then another Death Eater stepped forward, falling to their knees before the Dark Lord. Harry couldn't see his face.

"We beg your pardon, my lord," the man - it was a man's voice, strangely familiar. "Please forgive us. It won't ever happen again...we are at your mercy...please..."

Voldemort reached down, gripping the Death Eater's jaw harshly, tilting his head up, about to speak and as he did the mask melted away...

Green eyes...submissive posture, a dark mark clearly branded...begging...

"Begging, Harry? Such a good pet..."  
And red eyes moved over to him, against the headstone. And then hands were closing on him too and...

Harry woke up with a jolt of horror and a scream of denial on his lips, eyes wide with horror, gasping down air, thrashing against the grip holding him down.

"Get off me!" he snarled, hardly coherent, doing his absolute best to lash out, more animalistic than human. The grip only tightened, shifting on top of him to stop him twisting, keeping his legs from kicking like he was trying to, hands shoved above his head and pressed down into his pillow.

"Calm down," a cold, firm and authoritative voice ordered. "Harry - calm down right this second-"

He didn't calm, that voice just made it worse, and the next second his head was whipping to side, stinging as his attacker landed a sharp slap across his face. The shock of that jolted him a second time, and his vision started to clear and...bloody hell.

Slytherin dorms. Right. He was having nightmares, it was just a nightmare.  
Tom Riddle stared down at him, expression unyielding but with a hint of curiosity. Harry swallowed, concentrating on breathing, shoulders still tensed beyond measure though he stopped thrashing.

"You can get off me now," he said, flatly, voice a little hoarse. The grip tightened for a second, painfully, before releasing him entirely as Riddle shifted his weight away...only to yank him up off the bed too. He blinked, tiredly, exhausted almost beyond measure.

He hadn't had a decent night's sleep since he got here! Unless one counted being comatose, which he didn't.

"You can also stop manhandling me," he continued, trying to pull back from the grip which had transferred to his shoulders, eyes narrowed and flashing dangerously.

It had been a week since he began trying to infiltrate Riddle's circle and act the part of the groupie. He hated every single bloody second of it. It drove him mad to pretend such subservience and devotion, to try and be like one of the Death Eaters. It sickened and terrified him - the very thought.

Of course, one of the worst parts was that it all the excruciating forced...not docility so much, Riddle wouldn't believe that so easily...but good behaviour was just pointless now with the way he was acting. He could see Lestrange glaring at him pointedly, but he couldn't concentrate on that now.

Though the nightmare was immediately fading and becoming indistinct in his memory, the lingering nausea and dread remained, and the same anger and defiance resurfaced viciously.

He blamed it on the lack of sleep.

"I could, you could also stop whining and squirming," Tom returned matter-of-factly, a gleam in his gaze, cruel and hungry for knowledge and power. Harry nearly shuddered. "There's a good boy..."

Harry snarled at that, temper beyond strained from playing relatively nice all week, and he shoved Riddle away. To his vindictive satisfaction, the other boy nearly overbalanced with the vicious ferocity and strength of his push, before unfortunately catching himself instead of crashing into one of the bedposts like an idiot.

The next second, a smirk crossed the other's lips, making Harry want to groan, as much as he flared to the implicit challenge.

"Now, now," Riddle purred, tsking, "that's not very friendly. And you were doing so well, my dear. Careful now..."

Harry's jaw clenched furiously, and he glared back ferociously.  
The rest of the Slytherins in the dorm seemed very much awake now, all vestiges of sleep scattered from the corners of their eyes and countenances as they all seemed to gain a collective mob mind of huddling defensively beneath their duvets - like children scared of the monster beneath their bed, not exposing anything but heads and slices of hands.

Lestrange mouthed 'apologise' to him, but in the haze of sleep deprivation and fears Harry barely even noticed it.

"You're an arrogant twat," he snapped. "It's bloody hard to be friendly when you're so damn insufferable!"

"Oh, you mean you don't just love my company?" Tom returned, but there was an even greater viciousness to him now, sharpened like the edge of a razor. "I'm hurt, really...but this just proves you're after something." Harry could almost feel an echo of 'but so is everyone', though Riddle didn't say it.

Harry's posture turned rigid, and it seemed Tom was just after a chink, a scrap, for he stepped forward again, using Harry's exhausted confusion to promptly shove him out the dorm room in the same manner Harry had pushed him earlier.

He just about managed not to fall headfirst down the stairs, and Riddle was next to him seemingly in a flash, arm slung around his shoulders in a mockingly chummy way - though it was a tad too tight a hold for true friendliness, dragging him along.

"What the hell are you doing?" Harry near hissed, shrugging the arm off, only for a wand to dig into the back of his neck.

"Taking you to get some dreamless sleep potion."  
Whatever Harry had expected...that wasn't it. He expected interrogation, mockery, torture. His eyes narrowed.

"And I'm supposed to believe you on that?" he was highly sceptical. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I'm a prefect," Tom replied, not missing a beat. "This is what I do, I look after the students in my care."

"Ah, yeah, that's suddenly showing up after two months is it?" Harry returned, sarcastically. "You might need to shine up your altruistic love of your duties a bit."

Tom levelled him with a flat look.

"I assumed you'd deal with it, considering you seem to be independent otherwise." There was a hint of mockery there now, but also a deadly seriousness. Those intent eyes seared into him. "Clearly you just have no regard for your own health, and I do actually prefer not waking up to your screams every single night when we're all trying to sleep. It's much more fun when I'm the one making you scream and all that...though I suppose it's plausible that I still am the cause considering the assumed nature of your bad dreams...or good dreams, depending on what slant you want to take on it." The other flashed him a smirk, and Harry tried not to gape, spluttering at the latter insinuation.

"Screw you, I don't need your help," he growled, tugging away. Riddle sighed, sounding far more long-suffering then he had any right to be, before he offered Harry an altogther too kind smile.

"Yes, you do, and if you refuse to co-operate with me I will ensure that its Miss Pierce who is need of my help." It was said very matter of factly, coldly.

Harry's expression was icy, hard. He didn't think he'd ever despised the boy in front of him more...which was saying something.

"It's none of your bloody business-"

"-It is if I can't sleep because of your screaming," Riddle rebutted, and Harry tried not to acknowledge that as a fair and valid point. "You're ruining our education."

"Hell, I'll sleep on the couch. Seems better than waking up with you holding me down every night," Harry spat.

"Or you could solve the nightmares, and then neither of those measures would be necessary," Riddle raised his brows. Harry glowered, and the Slytherin Heir grabbed his shoulder again to steer him forwards.

"I can walk on my own," he muttered darkly. A week's work destroyed...but then, Riddle would be suspicious if he was suddenly an obedient groupie, wouldn't he? He just needed to be close enough...and then to sabotage. He was already working on looking for a weak point in the young Dark Lord's web of influence.

"Walk is an optimistic word for your movements in the night," Riddle replied. "Shuffle might be more appropriate. Or stumble precariously."

Harry blinked.  
"You're a twat."

"That surprises you?"

Harry snorted, with involuntarily amusement. No, definitely not, he was pissed off with Riddle, not laughing at his humour and manner. His insane, manipulative, controlling manner - what was there to like?

"Besides, too little sleep can kill a person," Riddle continued, as if there was no break. "And I'm hardly one to waste such a lovely, valuable resource when it's dropped in my path so conveniently. Not to mention, you're nowhere near as entertaining when you're tired, and really, that's one of the few things you're good for."

Harry shouldn't have cared about that comment in the slightest, but it was offensive, and it did cut, just a little bit. But that was because he was exhausted and everything seemed crap right now, not because of Riddle.  
"Not even pretending to be polite anymore are you?" he returned lightly. "Shame on the model student act."

"It's the middle of the night and my charm is clearly wasted on you," Riddle said.

"Yeah, it is," Harry started, smirking. He saw right through Riddle's little games.

"-I mean," Riddle chuckled, eyes gleaming as he turned to look at him, causing his smirk to freeze in place, "you know what I am and you're still coming to me to join my club. It's just wonderful. They always say friends should accept the worst of each other." The tone was too cheerful, tauntingly cheerful.

"We're not friends, nor will we ever be," Harry snapped. "You're an insufferable git. Why the hell would anyone want to be friends with you?"

"You should say 'hell' less often, you sound ridiculous."

"You're ridiculous."

"And you really need sleep," Riddle muttered, sounding almost...disappointed. Disappointed. The lack of witticisms and banter annoyed the other, Harry seized upon it for reference with triumph. Pity the thing Riddle liked most in whatever relationship - no, relationship was a bad word for it, they didn't have a relationship, their...dynamic - was the wordplay between them and the...well, the games. Which was bad, because that was exactly what he was aiming so intently to stop.

It was just, well, fun playing with Riddle, and when it wasn't fun, it was thrilling. No, not fun or thrilling. He meant horrible, awful for the time period, to be avoided at ALL costs.

Damn. He really did need sleep.

Riddle continued to steer him through the corridors, keeping a firm grip on his arm.  
A thought suddenly struck Harry.

"Shouldn't we wait til morning? The nurse is probably sleeping..."  
He wouldn't protest going, purely for Imogen's sake - this time, at least, however much he hated the hospital wing - but this was absurd.

Riddle blinked, before looking at him.  
"We're not going to the nurse, we're going to Slughorn's office."

Horace Slughorn, that was the man's name, wasn't it? Harry hadn't really had much to do with him and, from first impressions, he didn't really want to.

There was just something about the Potion's Professor...something...pompous? Something at any rate which he couldn't put his finger on, which stirred a sense of dislike in him. The man was loads better than Snape, but...he didn't know.

"That can definitely wait for morning - I might not appreciate your stunning model student act, but he does. We can't just barge in - I - we're in our pajamas for merlin's sake! He's sleeping too-" wait. Slughorn would be sleeping. Was his bed in his office?

Lupin's had been joined...oh he didn't want this to happen. At all.  
Riddle snorted, smiling just a little bit.

"Just keeping walking, sweetheart. **Watch and learn from your superiors."**  
It was about that point that Harry also made the unnerving realisation that Riddle had talked Parseltongue at him.

* * *

A/N: So it's definitely not my best, but I feel so blocked on this story, and you guys deserved something. And, with blocks, I tend to just have to try and work past them. That, and it's my birthday tomorrow so I thought I'd give you all a gift :P If this can be classified as a gift. 

If you want to give me a book, as you know, my book is out for sale on Amazon, links on my profile ) (joke! but I would appreciate it, but no pressure. A review is also lovely :) Not that you have to give me anything. I'm rambling. Sorry. Like Harry, I need sleep.)

So yeah, hope you managed to enjoy the chapter, terribly short as it was :)


	23. Chapter 21

Chapter 21:

Slughorn's Office was awfully...cosy. There were lots of comfortable, squashy chairs, and an opened box of some type of pineapple on the side.

It wouldn't have been easy to assume this was a Potions Professor's office, there were no potions or even vials, merely a somewhat overbearing taste in decoration and a luxury that seemed out of place in a school. It wasn't ostentatious, but Harry found he much preferred the relative starkness of Lupin's version of an office.

It was better than Lockheart's, at least.

There was no one around, but Tom seemed to enter the room with an unnerving easiness, almost practised, and certainly very quiet. Harry's mind still churned with the realisation that Riddle knew about his being a parseltongue, he just didn't quite know what to do about it.

His eyes narrowed as the Slytherin Heir strolled across the Office, with a gesture that he should be similarly silent.

He wasn't waking Slughorn up.

"You do know stealing is morally wrong, right?" he questioned, coolly.

"You do know I don't care, right?" Riddle returned, keeping his voice low. He charmed his way into Slughorn's cabinet with the same disconcerting simplicity, eyeing potion's vials without touching them for a moment, before carefully extracting one. So maybe it was a bit more like a Potions Professor's office.

"**Put it back**," he ordered. "**This is insane**." He ignored the fact that he and his friends had stolen from Snape's potion store before.

Tom glanced over at him, obviously noting the Parseltongue, and his lack of denial or hiding regarding it. A smirk captured the other's lips, though menace lurked in those dark eyes.

"Do keep your voice down, darling. It would look terrible on your record if I had to stop you from ransacking our esteemed Potions Professor's office to further your terrible history with substance abuse."

Harry blinked. His history with substance abuse?

"I'd drag you down with me," he said, coldly. Riddle favoured him with a mild, too innocent expression.

"No, no you wouldn't." He sounded entirely too confident, and Harry scowled.  
"And why's that?" he questioned, tersely. "The same crap about why I haven't told Dumbledore?"

"Similar," the other said lightly, holding out the Dreamless Sleep. "You're trying to prevent the possibility of the time line collapsing, I presume, which is also why you didn't attempt to murder me on sight. You go on about my 'model student act', suggesting it still exists in your time, ergo...I don't get caught in here, and in trouble."

...damn it. That wasn't even fair!  
Riddle smirked.

"Drink up, there's a good boy," he purred.

"I can't get you caught, I can still smash glass through your eyes. The healer would be able to fix it, so it wouldn't be permanent," Harry growled.

"You say the sweetest things, little lion." Before he could reply to the dry, yet mockingly cooing statement, Riddle was already sweeping over, seizing his arms and dragging him out the office again.

Harry could feel his temper starting to brew again, beyond fed up with constantly being manhandled and feeling crap about himself, or in some way inferior to Riddle. He may not have been a genius, but at least he actually had friends, and he was damn sure that he was better at flying than Tom too.

He did wait until they were after the office though before decisively twisting his arm free, eyes flashing wild and feral, dangerous.

Tom was starting to actually look annoyed now, studying him icily.  
"It is the middle of the night, Potter," he said, quietly - too quietly. "Start it in the morning after we've both damn well got some sleep."

Part of Harry registered his surprise at hearing the other even semi- swear, the other part of him was too pissed off and exhausted to care.

"Oh of course, I always do what's best for you and follow your orders," he sneered. "It's my life's purpose, really."

"You don't have to add the really in there, pet, I believed you well enough without the added emphasis. Glad to see you're finally getting it, now we can work on your behavioural problems."

"I don't have behavioural problems!"

"You lasted a week being civil to me before exploding. You have behavioural problems," Riddle returned flatly.

"No. You just underestimate how much I hate you," Harry said icily. "Despite your comments of this being personal and your knowledge of the situation." Tom went still then, examining him, absolutely no expression on his face.

"You still hate me for something I haven't done yet? Such a judgy little thing aren't you?" The next second Riddle had a wand in his hands, pressing up against the hollow of Harry's throat at the same time he drew his own wand, snapping it over Riddle's heart, hard. He wasn't sure if he could look away, even if he wanted to. "On that regard and assumption," Tom continued, "I should also kill you right now seeing as in the future you seem to be a thorn in my side too"

"As if you could kill me. Feel free to try though and risk getting blown into smithereens," Harry said coldly, digging his own wand further into Riddle's chest, hoping it hurt.

Tom snorted.  
"You're awfully cocky, Potter."

"I have a good track record of beating you. Still alive, and all."

"The funny thing is, if a mass murdering Dark Lord hasn't managed to kill you yet, it's not a reflection on you when you act like a bumbling moron or are a child, it is a reflection on him and makes me question how much he really wants you dead."

Harry blinked at that, and some of his anger faded.

"What do you mean?"

Tom studied him for a moment, silently, and seemed about to say something. In the end, he didn't, and Harry half wondered if he'd imagined the whole thing.

"Come on, let's go back to the common room. You're so sleep deprived that the Dreamless Sleep will probably just knock you out, and I have no intention of carrying you back to bed if you pass out on me."

"I'm not going to bloody well pass out on you," Harry growled, fists clenching a little. "And you can keep your stolen potions, I want nothing to do with your crimes."

"It is incredible how you can be so holier than thou all the time," Riddle sneered. "Does it not get exhausting? Because it's getting on my nerves enough, especially when I haven't had a full night's sleep since you got here."

"I'll ask for a transfer. House switch. My own room. Sleep on the couch. If it's further away from you I can't say I'm complaining."

"You were the one who approached me this time round, darling." Riddle's brows raised. "You've been acting like one of my groupies all week. That's not exactly the epitome of trying to get as far away from me as possible, but maybe I've mixed up the definitions somewhere?"

Harry glared, about to snarl that he was only doing that as part of a greater plan to lose the bastard's interests, before remembering that doing so would nullify said plan. His teeth gritted. He could feel a really stupid plan nagging at the back of his mind, and his grip on his wand tightened.

"You're insufferable. Besides, when I don't, you just stalk me and threaten my friends."

"Your friends?" Riddle repeated, an all too soft, melodic laugh scraped out of his mouth. It didn't seem to fit the scenario, and maybe that was what made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "How are they your friends when you are constantly putting on a performance for them and they don't have a clue about your true identity?" the other questioned. "They know nothing about you, not really. I think you're more like me than you would ever like to admit."

"I am nothing like you!" Harry spat. "It's our choices who make us who we are, and you consistently make all of the wrong ones."

Tom stared back at him, unamused.  
"I think you're clutching at straws there." The Slytherin Heir began to circle him, an idle predator, a shark eyeing up its next meal. "Because I can think of a lot of similarities between us."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said, thoughtlessly, mind drifting back to the chamber and that Tom Riddle. The other blinked.

"...you know?"

"Ignore that statement." Harry smiled, a little too brightly.

"Is this the story of how you managed to recognise my teenaged self within a second of meeting me?"

"Yeah." Harry saw no point in hiding that. "It's also a story which you're not hearing."

"I presumed I also dictated our similarities to you then, so a repeat of the conversation would be a waste of breath. You know the truth, however much you would like to deny it with that choices babble."

"You know what, Tom, you're right," he stated, after a moment. Riddle stilled, head tilting a little.

"I always am," the Slytherin murmured. "You're just normally slower to see that."  
Harry forced a pleasant smile to his lips, stepping forwards towards the other to disallow the opportunity to circle as much.

"We do have a lot of similarities. We're both half-bloods, muggle raised, parselmouths...we even look something alike." He tried to ignore just how much he was paraphrasing the diary Riddle. "But guess what? We're more different than we are similar. Because unlike me, you're a pathetic little creep with daddy issues who's so full of rage and hate that he's taking it out on the rest of the-"

"No, no you're right, sweetheart," Tom interrupted, too lightly. "You have mummy-issues instead. How quaint. Is that why you have no self-preservation? Cause it's your fault they're dead? Your sick survivor's guilt?

"Piss off," Harry growled.

"Eloquent, hero. Drink the potion and sleep, your stupidity at this level of sleep deprivation is utterly repulsive and makes me want to cry for the sake of the world," Tom returned. Harry glared, furiously, heat creeping up the back of his neck with embarrassment.

"No one's asking you to talk to me. I'd rather you didn't."

"No," Tom mused. "You'd rather I didn't try and figure out more about your...circumstances, but you don't object talking to me anywhere near as much as you'd like, if you did, you'd just stop responding - and, though you come up with many tactics and elaborate schemes for avoiding me, you've never backed down or ignored me when I'm there, despite it being an obvious option."

"...and you're trying to tell me that you wouldn't start escalating your behaviour to provoke a response if I did give you the silent treatment?" Harry returned skeptically.

"No," Tom said lightly. "I'm just saying that you've never really tried. Interesting, hmm?"

"Not really," Harry replied flatly. His grip on his wand shifted a little again, as he studied Tom closely. "Lead the way back to the Common Room then."

"My, aren't you suddenly agreeable," Riddle murmured.

"It happens occasionally when I'm sick to death of talking to you and just want you to shut the hell up because you're voice sounds like nails being screeched down a chalkboard."

"You say the sweetest things." Tom's wand jabbed into his throat for a second longer, before his hand shot out and shoved Harry to walk in front of him. "Let's go then."

"Don't trust me walking behind you?" Harry forced his tone to remain light. "I'm flattered."

"You've got a 'I'm going to do something stupid' glint in your eye that I can't claim particular fondness for," Riddle replied, in much the same casual manner. "Try pocketing your wand, and we'll see."

"Oh yeah, because I'm really going to pocket my wand when yours is still out," Harry stated. "I just love leaving myself so defensively."

"I'm insulted that you seem to think that the fact you have your wand out makes the blindest bit of difference to how much I can hurt you. Doesn't seem to be helping you too much when we duel."

Harry's fists clenched at that.  
"Maybe you should try coming to my court and fighting with light magic then, if you're so confident."

He was only just learning Dark Arts, which was practically Riddle's trade, of course he wasn't bloody well on the same level! Yet.

"I don't do light magic. I have no affinity for it."

Harry was somewhat surprised Tom was actually admitting not being good at something, and smirked.

"Oh I love being better than you at things."

"Cherish the sensation, it won't happen very often," Riddle said coldly. Harry's smirk broadened, and soon they were entering the common room once more. He turned around to take the Dreamless Sleep potion, and cast just as the Slytherin pressed it into his hand and started to speak.

"**So, how is it that you're a Parsel**-"

"**_Obliviate_**."

* * *

_A/N: So, I had the worst writer's block for this chapter. It probably shows, I don't like it. But it's something? Thank you for your continued support :)_


	24. Chapter 22

Chapter 22:

Harry had done his absolute best to be careful with Riddle's mind - he'd taken away the knowledge of the future and of his being a parseltongue. It hadn't been too hard, as he was pretty sure he'd only slipped up around Tom once or twice.

He could hope that he hadn't messed it up.  
He assumed he hadn't, because there was no immediate lash back or reaction. Riddle's expression just went very distant and Harry slipped away to bed.

When Tom entered, the other Slytherin had just calmly slipped into bed to sleep without so much of a glance in his direction.

He considered the plan a success, even if he spent all night awake out of sheer paranoia and the fact he didn't like sleeping nowadays anyway. He toyed with the vial of Dreamless Sleep potion instead, insides churning uneasily.

It was stupid to second-guess the memory wipe just because Riddle was capable of acting like he wasn't a complete bastard some of the time. That didn't make him a nice person, and he was certainly not a good one.

Even if it was, it was irrelevant! Even good people shouldn't know the future. If he wasn't determined that he wasn't going to change anything and was just going to soon get back to his rightful time period, in which case he needed to be able to slip back into his life.

If he knew he was going to be stuck here, he would happily obliviate the knowledge out of his head for safe keeping and because ignorance really was bliss regarding this. It was...freezing to know people's fates, exhausting to have to be so careful and keep everything straight in his head so he didn't accidently screw anything up.

He couldn't even get close to anyone at this stage, not really, because he didn't know if he was just going to disappear, because he was never really supposed to be in their lives to begin with.

Obliviating himself on this matter would have been a kindness, if it was his personal choice. It would certainly be less...burdensome.

The next morning, he felt bone-tired from little to no sleep and irrationally twitchy. Or perhaps not so irrationally - this was Riddle he was dealing with, after all. It was like poking a viper, liable to strike at any given second.

Riddle was eyeing him, but, of course, Harry couldn't delete everything, so he would be. He figured it was normal. He hoped it was normal.

It seemed to be normal. Things settled over the next few days. Riddle still pestered him of course, and the Death Eaters would still watch him...but Riddle didn't speak in parseltongue to him, or specifically hound him with questions about the future.

It was...a relief, that he hadn't screwed anything up, as much as it was...when Tom had known, he hadn't had to pretend in the same way, where he had to pretend and lie almost constantly around everyone else.

It was exhausting, and only in having the bonds of silence and secrets temporarily broken, did he even realise how crushing the weight of it all was.

Imogen and Roger were great, they really were - he'd been absolutely terrified that he wouldn't make any friends whatsoever, and, even with them, there were times when he just felt so...lonely.

They were his friends, yeah, but they didn't quite understand. They couldn't, it really wasn't their fault, they just couldn't. They hadn't been through the same things as he had, they weren't Ron and Hermione. To them, he was Harrison Evans, a somewhat quiet, strange Slytherin transfer student, who had been homeschooled. His guardians had recently died in the Grindelwaldian attack, and he supposed that, at least, was somewhat honest.

It didn't matter if he missed somebody knowing the truth though, especially when it was the young Dark Lord. This was for the best, and it wasn't like Tom was his friend. Tom didn't have friends, and nor did the boy want any either.

He was in Potion's Class, working with Roger - in this time period, houses were so much more mixed up in classes, rather than in his own time when a large majority of them seemed to be Gryffindor/Slytherin lumped together.

He had Potion with Hufflepuffs, Charms with Ravenclaws, DADA with Gryffindors, it all varied.  
He didn't see that much of anyone to be honest, he spent so much time training, whenever he could, or studying books not strictly on the curriculum.

He wondered if his lessons with Tom were still on, because, as reluctant as he was to admit it, they were actually really useful. He felt like he learnt more and accomplished more than he had in whole years with some of his previous, official Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers.  
He normally worked with Roger in Potions - seeing as Riddle and Prince were no longer occasionally hassling him into partnering them with him, or some other Slytherin more 'suitable' for his colours.

Today was no exception.  
They were making an Erumpet Potion. It was delicate work, the exact type that Harry hated in potions, because a wrong move could make it...well, erupt, before its time.

He should have known that was like Chekov's gun, and that something was thus bound to go horribly wrong.

One second, they were just working on it - Harry doing the dicing and cutting whilst Roger tendered to the potion itself and making sure everything was done on time, informing Harry's methods too.

The next second, there was a flash of something and their cauldron had just exploded and a hand was on the scruff of his neck, dragging him down to the floor and sending him tumbling beneath the table.

There was heat and smoke, an acrid stench, fingers digging into his flesh and breath on his ear and screams and a babble of panic.

Roger!

Harry automatically tried to scramble up, as the air began to clear, but the weight of someone else kept him firmly in place, with fingers biting against his shoulder and the back of his neck. He could feel burns all along his arms from where the explosion had made contact with him, which would have shred him apart from having been so close - blinded him at least if the volatile liquid burst into his eyes.

"**Stay down.**"  
The words, the order, had him freezing instinctively, more because he recognised the icy, sibilant hiss than anything else, and more because he recognised the significance even.

He felt sick.

It didn't stop him from shoving Riddle off him the second he could, and struggling to reach Roger. That didn't stop him from seeing the shadow of death and the reflection of Lord Voldemort glaring back at him in the dark glint in Tom's eyes. A shudder ran down his spine, though he refused to cower.

"Oh-oh my-" Slughorn's voice sounded faint, and a thick, suffocating silence had fallen on the room.

That cauldron shouldn't have exploded. Rogers was decent at potions, and Harry knew that while it hadn't been going flawlessly, it shouldn't have gone this bad either.

Riddle had done it. Done something. He just didn't know /what/.

And now Roger was whimpering on the floor, horribly burnt all over, swollen, bleeding from numerous cuts with his...shit his chest. It was a mangled wreck, with part of the rib cage protruding. His leg wasn't much better.

And it was because of him.

He was scrambling immediately, Rogers' eyes filled with pain and fear, somehow knowing what was going on here as his eyes flicked past Riddle's shoulders.

"He needs the hospital wing. Madame Wilson may still be able to save his life."  
"Y-yes, hospital wing - if somebody could-" Slughorn began, ashen.

Harry wasted no time, gently scooping the boy up, buckling beneath the weight for a few seconds, before cradling the other close to his own chest, mindless of the blood seeping into his robes.

"I'll make sure they get there, sir. You should clean the classroom and check for further injuries."  
The next second a hand was gripping his elbow painfully tight, nails digging into the burns and tugging him out of the classroom.

Harry had a bad taste in his mouth, and he was proved right when Riddle promptly shoved him into an empty classroom and warded the door, a few corridors away.

He met the other's eyes immediately.  
"Do whatever you want to do to me just let me get him to the hospital wing,_ please._"

"**I find this a far more fitting punishment, actually**," Riddle hissed. "I'm not sure whether or not to be more impressed with you, Potter." The young Dark Lord sauntered forwards, caressing a hand down his cheek, mockingly. "Or just disappointed and angry. Really, a memory charm? Aren't you just so much more ruthless and like me then you'd love to pretend, my dear." The mocking, petting stroke turned to a sharp, contained, slap and Harry held Roger even more protectively against his chest as his eyes flashed and his cheek stung. It didn't hurt so much as it was degrading, and his arms were pinned in holding Roger up.

"I hope you die," Harry snarled, refusing to get caught up in it. He couldn't, not now. "Don't involve other people in this, your quarrel is with me."

"Aren't you just the precious hero," Riddle scoffed. There was no amusement in his voice anymore with the nickname, just ice and death. A hand closed around his throat, tightening. "I should kill you right here, right now. Then I'll kill all your friends for your sheer fucking audacity."

Roger moaned and whimpered against his torso, and Harry jerked back as best as he could.  
For the first time since he'd come here and started playing his games against Tom Riddle he felt honestly, truly, scared out of his mind.

His mind raced desperately, heart pounding.

"You can't do this. Roger doesn't die here and now, I know, I'm from the future," he said quickly. "So you have to let me help him."

"Such_ lies._..you say that like I'd believe a single word that comes out your mouth."  
Riddle drew his wand, and unease twisted in his guts.

Harry didn't believe begging would help, it never did, and Lord Voldemort was hardly the type to show mercy. He could drop Roger and fight Tom, and get the boy to the hospital wing in time...except it wouldn't be on time. They needed to go now, there wasn't time.

"Slughorn and people will be suspicious if we don't turn up at the Hospital Wing!"

"The effects of the unfinished Erumpet Potion were simply too strong and your friend's insides melted and he died," Riddle returned, without missing a beat. "Tragic accident. You promptly broke down and sobbed and clung over him and how much you failed to save him and how this is all your fault. I, prefect that I am, stayed with you and comforted you in the immediate aftermath of your grief."

**"Tom, please, I'll do anything-**"

**"Anything**?" Riddle purred. Harry was going to be sick, Roger looked dead already, aside from the faintest up and down movement of his chest. But...could he risk the future and everything for the boy? His head hurt, fragmented thoughts everywhere.

"-You'd have done the same thing in my place. I'm just trying to protect the future, myself, you'd do exactly the same," Harry added quickly.

"**On your knees.**"  
Harry stared at the response, with a mounting horror, hesitated, glanced at Roger, then dropped without a second's thought, bowing his head, shoulders stiff.

"Good boy." It was utterly mocking and he hated it, gritting his teeth. He did his best to reassure himself that this wasn't real submission. It was only submitting if it was done willingly, this was done simply for the sake of saving a friend and furthering his own aims.

"_Please_," he repeated, glaring furiously at the floor.

"You make such a pretty picture begging like this. It suits you, being on your knees at my feet."  
Was he imagining it, or was there something off in Tom's tone?

"Such a pity it's not willing and thus isn't what you want," Harry mumbled. "You know I'm not doing this for you, don't you? It's driving you mad. That's why you always act nice and charming with your prey first, make them love you, want to serve you. It's a greater power than blunt force, because blunt force still leaves people open to turn against you the second something better comes along."

It was a guess more than anything, but Riddle's breath stopped from the briefest moment. He'd hit bullseye. He wetted his lips, glancing up.

"Our game has no rules. Obliviating you was a bloody great move and you know it...aside from the fact it didn't work." Why hadn't it worked?

He could feel Tom's eyes burning into his skin.

"Go and take him to the Hospital Wing. Be in the common room in the evening, I will deal with you then. Try a stunt like this again and you will find me not to be so forgiving."

Harry surged up onto his feet in seconds, rushing out of the room with Roger, nearly stumbling.  
He got to the Hospital wing.

Roger's chest was fixable.  
He'd have breathing difficulties for the rest of his life, but he would live.

He wouldn't walk.

This wasn't over.

* * *

_A/N: Short, I know, but it's something? Hope you liked it. Thanks for the reviews! :) Happy (belated) New Year!_


	25. Chapter 23

Chapter 23:

Zevi Prince kept his eyes glued to the floor, hardly daring to breathe for the possibility of drawing Tom's wrath.

The rest were the same, no exceptions, even among the first years.  
The Slytherin Common Room was uncommonly silent, devoid of the normal games or even the normal friendly discussion after classes.

There was a scratch of quills on parchment, the rustle of book pages, muted murmurs and the air was sharp like the exact moment when a glass shattered across the floor.

They hadn't yet got to the aftermath of the ringing in their ideas, but someone had already tipped the glass, and now it was suspending on the edge of explosion, clear and devastating.

Two second years had strode in, chatting, only to sort of freeze when they realised the unquiet in the room, turned green with the possibility they would be victims if only for breaking the hush before the storm, before quickly scuttling to find a seat in the corner.

Tom sat in the centre of it all, the only one who seemed perfectly calm.

He supposed that was only natural considering their...lord, as they were supposed to be calling him nowadays, was the eye of the storm.

He was writing out their Astronomy Essay, expression smooth and unreadable...fingers resting so very lightly on his wand.

Zevi was glad, for once, that he wasn't closest, like Abraxas or Cygnus. It was a toss up between them, before it used to be Lestrange quite clearly, but since Harry's arrival the power dynamic seemed to be shifting as Riddle grew increasingly irritated with Cygnus' almost desperate demeanour.

Whilst Tom had his fondness for other people's desperation, or rather the power and control it allowed him in turn, he had a simultaneous intolerance for weakness and there was a very fine line between the two sides.

He didn't know quite what had happened, but he knew Evans had done something.

Whilst there was nothing tangible to link Tom to the potions incident, and the severe injuries resulting to Roger Watkins, he had reacted with incredible reflexes. Superhuman almost, unless he'd known that the explosion was about to happen.

He was just surprised Tom hadn't let Harry be blinded with an explosive posture tearing through him and potentially killing him.

It wasn't his business.

But he felt the stirrings of involuntary curiosity either way.

Evans hadn't been at dinner, no doubt still lurking around the Hospital Wing, but he'd have to come back eventually.

Maybe that was what they were all waiting for.  
He fingers stilled where he was smoothing out his Potion's essay, as he heard the door open.

* * *

Harry steeled his shoulders as he arrived outside of the Slytherin common room, jutting his chin up in defiance.

The absolute, consuming terror and sickness had faded now, smearing to guilt which crystallised to dangerous shards of rage.

He did not have to put up with this shit.  
He hadn't asked to come back here, he hadn't asked for Riddle to become obsessed with him, now or in his time, and frankly he didn't see how attempting to obliviate the young Dark Lord was any worse than when he'd been drugged and forced to drink Veritaserum.

His eyes tightened, as he muttered the password and boldly strode into the room.

He almost wanted to freeze and walk straight back out again; but he wasn't that bloody cowardly.  
He locked eyes with Riddle, almost as if had blinkered everyone else aside from the clutching of wands and the thinned lips and feverish eyes that tracked his every movement.

He was a figure carved out by the lazers of their stares, splintered from the rest of the world by their attention.

He'd had the whole damn school stare at him like he was a murderer before, like he was scum. He wasn't going to let them intimidate him like this.

**"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't rip your throat out,**" he hissed, past caring about the reactions he would get for the slip.

Riddle didn't look up immediately, and that bloody well infuriated him too, because it made him look like an idiot to be ignored and left standing in front of the man. So he didn't hesitate, he drew his fist back and punched him hard across the face.

Voldemort or not, monster or man - Tom Riddle was a bastard.

That certainly got the Slytherin's attention, a hand grasping his wrist and squeezing and twisting as his bones grinded, not managing to prevent his blow but softening the impact marginally to avoid the crunch of a broken nose.

His wand was in his hand without even thinking about it, and Tom's was too, an essay falling to the floor with undignified grace, and for a second it was going to be Halloween all over again-then Riddle stopped, seemingly not enraged enough to make a spectacle of himself in front of his oh so loyal followers.

Harry hardly cared about them, and maybe that was his advantage, because the second Riddle released him he lunged for him again, in a hot stripe of pain as his wand lashed down, and the burst of a shield charm and the harsh slice of a glare in his direction.

"I'm sorry, what?" Tom returned, after a moment, tilting his head. "Was that supposed to be intimidating?" There was a trace of mockery, and something else he couldn't figure out. "I must say, I much preferred you earlier Harrison, on your knees and begging. What was it again?" the Slytherin Heir tilted his head. "Oh yes, I'll do _anything_."

"Does that normally work on people?" Harry bit out, glossing maddened eyes around the room, and the students who practised playing stone like this was a game of musical statues in which no one remembered to switch the sound back on. "Is this normally how it works here? You just let him walk over you and everyone else? I suppose you're just setting yourselves up for your lifelong careers of grovelling at other people's feet."

"Now, now," Riddle purred, liquid velvet poured over a knife, "no need to be so frustrated just because you honestly expected to be able to walk into someone else's kingdom and start throwing your weight around."

"Oh, I get frustrated whenever I see a bully get away with throwing their weight around, when all it would take is a little rebellion and they'd be nothing. And you know what, Tom, one day people are going to realise how utterly insignificant you are, and how you may think you're worth something, but you're not. You're just another kid so scared of losing control that you'd kick everyone else down to feel better about yourself."

Tom stared at him for a moment, before raising a brow.  
"So how long did you practise that speech?"

"About as long as you spent trying to prove to everyone that you were special in the good way and not just a freak."

He regretted the words almost the second they were out of his mouth, because they rattled like conkers in his chest, but he stood by them anyway, outwardly unfllinching as there was suck of air around them, a vacuum of reaction that screamed more loudly than anything else could ever have done.

"Oh god, do you actually believe I have some distorted issues of being misunderstood?" Tom's eyes flashed, even as he smiled back. "That's...so quaint I can't decide if it's pathetic or adorable. Oh I don't think I'm special because I'm compensating for feeling like a freak - no need to project there, darling - I think I'm special because I'm amazing."

"Arrogant-"

"-But tell me, Harry," Tom continued, relentlessly. "Did I in your opinion spend longer pretending to not be a freak than you did and do compensating with a hero complex for the fact that your parents were murdered because of you?"

Harry's breath caught in his throat, and for a second, he was stunned. Because Tom knew what he'd done! He knew he was the one who killed them, and nausea brewed in his gut, and he should have come up with a witty comeback several long seconds ago.

The words just echoed in his head, and his fists slowly clenched.

"Must feel terrible how you still haven't seemed to have got past the habit of recklessly putting everyone else around you in danger," Riddle laughed, almost pleasantly. "Your friend, is he going to make a full recovery? He was on the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team and everything, rumour has it he's not going to walk again?" the tone had turned sympathetic now. Those eyes were anything but.

"Touch my friends again and I will kill you."  
All quips and banter, however venomous, had fallen out of his tone now. It was flat, deadly - determined. Time line be damned, he was at the point where he could kill Riddle now, regardless of the intense amount of damage it may or would cause.

Riddle must have sensed that, because his head tilted a little again.

"You're being cute again. Your attempts to stand up to me haven't been going well so far? Though I suppose I should congratulate you and your one man army. It's quite amusing watching you try."

"That makes two of us then," Harry said, the ringing of words slowly dimming in his head, burning in his blood all the same. "I find it amusing that you're so desperate to keep the topic on me. I have issues, at least I can admit to that. Amazing or not, doesn't stop you hating yourself. I mean, why the hell else would you be trying so hard to run from who you are and your very name? I mean, your mother didn't want you, your dad left you - and god, that blood purism thing must be one hell of a daddy issue considering you're a halfblood yourself. But just goes to show that you must hate yourself even more."

Tom's eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth to speak. This time, it was Harry who didn't give him the opportunity.

"I mean, not that I blame you. Bit hard to love someone no one else wants or gives a shit about. I mean, aside from their own ends, because that's how a tyrant's kingdom works, doesn't it? They stick around because you can give them something. Nobody actually likes you."

"And we're back to you compensating," Tom spat back, and Harry was again aware of their audience and now, instead of feeling...invigorated by it, by the opportunity to tear hunks of their lord out in front of them, he just felt uncomfortable. "Is that another reason why you play the hero? Because that's what everyone expects from you, or so you feel, and you're so scared that if they knew how messed up you really were they wouldn't like you either? I make no pretences or apologies for the way I am...but you...I _pity_ you."

Lord Voldemort pitied_ him_?

The next second he'd lunged at the bastard again, because sticks and stones could break my bones but the words could hurt more and he was so sick of all of this.

Someone grabbed him, yanking him back before he could claw at the other.  
Tom snorted.

"So uncivilised, aren't you? Little lion. That's what you are, a lion in the snake house. Interesting combination."

Bizzarely, and he didn't know why because this whole conversation was just making him more livid, Tom seemed genuinely at ease now, all of a sudden. Amused. He made a slight gesture, and whoever had dragged him back - Alphard - released him just as quickly.

Tom stepped forward, seemingly oblivious to the murder attempt, though his gaze had a steel to it that warned him not to try anything, smoothing out the wild temper of his hair, and his clothes back into place from where they had rumpled and ripped with the explosion, fingers dragging across his skin.

"Would do you good if we could just get all that passion trained in the right direction, hmm?" Riddle murmured. "Well played. We're even."

Tom held a hand out to shake, smiling openly, eyes gleaming.

Harry felt thrown off course, bewildered and disconcerted at the sudden switch, before he understood just as quickly and wanted to swear.

Thrown off course with the rug pulled out from under his feet.

If he refused, Riddle was the bigger man here, and he was the villain.

He hated Slytherins.

He shook the hand, and they practised breaking each other's fingers, and maybe there was still some frisson in the air because the Slytherins didn't look relaxed yet.

He plotted further revenge in his head, and he could tell Tom was doing the same, but he'd still stopped and-

Was he feeling as uncomfortable with an audience as Harry was? It was an odd epiphany, but he was abruptly convinced to it.

At least, because with an audience they were pinned to one board and, Riddle, well, Riddle liked a challenge, didn't he?

And Harry had just figured out the perfect way to give it.

Still. He smiled back sweetly.

"Of course we're even. I never once thought you were above me."

Tom's jaw tightened.

* * *

_A/N: So, it's been a...while. I hope I still have the characters down, I feel like I've fallen out of practise as though I still write Tom and Harry a lot (as you may know) the dynamics are different. So yeah, hope I didn't shatter the dream, and this was worth the wait. Um. Probably wasn't. I'm going to scuttle back to revision and hopefully not failing my life...adios. Thanks for the reviews :)_


	26. Chapter 24

Chapter 24:

"Do you miss home?"

Harry glanced up at the question. A week had passed, a week of tensions, and trying to keep his composure, of lessons and lashing out. He just felt...drained. The Dreamless Sleep potion had helped temporarily, so he wasn't dying of sleep deprivation, but that didn't mean it was good, or that he wasn't still exhausted.

He hadn't had the opportunity to talk to Roger yet, he wasn't out of the Hospital Wing yet, and he felt too ashamed to confront Imogen even if that made him a bastard. Not that Im had made any attempt to come near him.

She was terrified.

She should be.

He rubbed his eyes, looking down again, as Tom crossed the room to sit next to him. He'd given up hiding text books by now; Riddle was fully aware that he was studying and trying to improve his duelling skills.

"Of course," he murmured, in answer. "I don't belong here. What's it to you?"  
How could he not? Now, more than ever, he wished this had never happened, that even though elements of his life in the future with the rise of Voldemort and the way his friends had hardly responded to his questioning letters was crap, he...it was home.

Here, he felt more alone than ever. He wondered if he'd ever get home, or see them again - the uncertainty of what would happen next.

"Just curious," Tom shrugged elegantly. "Did you belong at 'home' then?"

"I'm getting bloody sick of your curiosity, Riddle," Harry bit out.

The Slytherin heir hummed at that, leaning back a little on the palms of his hands.

"Well, you do realize that all games aside the easiest way to stop is to answer my questions and give me what I want?" the other replied.

Harry scowled.  
"That also seems the easiest way to destroy the future, so no thanks."

"Harry-" and maybe it was the use of his real name, not some warped endearment that really grabbed his attention, "-if you were going to change the future, do you not think your very presence would have already done for? Either, the timeline is fixed, or you no longer have a future to go back to and your resistance against assimilation is causing you greater unhappiness here. You don't belong because you won't allow yourself to."

Harry's eyes narrowed a little at Tom's speech, even as he recognized an uncomfortable amount of truth in the words. Maybe that just made it all worse.

"I see no point 'assimilating', as you put it, when I'll be gone soon enough. Not much point putting down roots somewhere you have no intention of staying and even I was stuck here, even if my future was destroyed, I would still never settle my roots with you or yours," he said coldly.

"So, even if you are stuck here, you're going to cling to a memory of crimes yet to be committed, and thus essentially charge an innocent man as guilty," Tom murmured. Harry's jaw clenched, and he wanted to punch the other in frustration at that comment,.

"You're hardly innocent," he returned.

"Perhaps not. But I am not guilty of the murder of your parents. Not yet."

"And yet, if the timeline is inevitable as you seem to believe, you will be, so I'd rather not associate with that. I could give you knowledge and it wouldn't change a thing, in that instance, but I just don't like you so frankly I'd rather refuse you anything that brings you happiness or reprieve," Harry spat.

"And yet, if the timeline is fluid and you really do need to so desperately obliviate me and guard secret knowledge from me, that also simultaneously makes you complicit to my crimes. You defend what I am led to believe is a traumatic and damaging future. You could kill me. Yet you don't, and so despite your belief that you are somehow saving the future you are in fact behaving selfishly so you can go home, and condemning all who I have killed. I mean, you could also be trying to sway me from my path of darkness, but you don't seem very interested in that either."

Harry paused, his insides rolling. Tom was just winding up - he knew Riddle, the bastard, was just winding him up - but that didn't mean it wasn't working or that the words didn't sink like poison into his veins.

"I am not responsible for your actions," he growled.

"You're responsible for not stopping me, however much whether it is your duty to do so or not is debatable," Riddle drawled. "Though, of course, I have yet to do anything to do you harm and so your hatred is still nothing but prejudice."

Harry glared at the Slytherin heir, furiously.  
Yes, Tom hadn't literally killed his parents, but - his head felt so jumbled, and he felt so tired and-

"Is this your convoluted way of telling me to get over myself?" he questioned, icily.

"If I need to dumb myself down for you to understand me," Tom smiled, pleasantly. "_Yes_. Darling."

"Then you have some bloody audacity," Harry said, flatly now. Riddle raised his eyebrows, before his eyes flickered, and realization bloomed on his handsome features.

"_Oh.._." he said softly.

Harry's fingers twitched for his wand.  
"What?" he snapped.

"It must be difficult for you not to have any validation for your hatred," Tom murmured, and Harry loathed the way those dark eyes were fixed on him. "You're like a puppet with its strings cut, moving jerkily through the same jarred patterns and rehearsal because it's what you know and its easier than maybe accepting that you're projecting your worst nightmares on a student far too similar to yourself for your own comfort. It's so much easier to demonize me, isn't it?"

"I don't need to demonize you to know that you're a bully!" Harry's eyes were wild. Maybe there was truth there, but it was far more than that which had him surging to his feet. "Maybe you should stop pretending you understand things you don't have the first clue about!" he hissed.

"And what is it I don't know?"  
The calmness in Riddle's voice infuriated him, made him want to lash out and tear and claw and ruin that perfect composure so he wasn't the only one unravelling in a time period that wasn't his own, confronted on every side with no reprieve.

It bothered him what Tom became, of course it did, but even more it bothered him that Tom Riddle was not Lord Voldemort yet and the guilt of inaction crippled him, and the confusion gnawed at his bones and lines of black and white smeared to grey.

"It still happened!" Harry nearly yelled the words, and maybe there was some venom in his voice, different from before, because Riddle almost looked surprise for a moment. "Maybe you haven't done it yet, but it still happened. It's my past, not yours, and I swear you are not invalidating all of that on some game or manipulation. It still matters! And you have some bloody audacity to tell me to get over it when you have no idea what's it like!"

"I grew up in a Muggle Orphanage, hero." There was something brittle and icy to Tom's tone now. "And I don't like limitations so don't you ever dare have the audacity to transpose your preconceptions onto me. I am not some black and white villain in a story book, and your own experiences do not define me either."

Harry stared for several long moments, and it took him a second to realize that there was barely an inch between them as they glared at each other, with trembling fists and rigid shoulders and chests heaving.

"I am never going to apologize to you for what my future self did, because I am not yet him and frankly, I don't actually give a damn about two people who I've never met and will wager were soldiers in a war. They made their choices."

"Shut up," Harry snapped.

"Oh, I'm sorry, the truth is difficult, isn't it?" Riddle mocked. "You know we are the same."

"What the hell do you even want to accomplish from all of this?" Harry demanded. "I can acknowledge that we have similar traits without admiring what you are."

"But you can't be comfortable without clinging onto some delusion of me. You need to be the hero because then maybe, just maybe, it justifies the fact that your parents died for you."Harry's teeth gritted, and he felt like he had been suckerpunched. Tom's eyes remained unforgivingly fixed on him, even as the Slytherin Heir continued. "And every hero needs a villain, don't they?"

Harry could have thrown up at that statement, squeezing his eyes shut, turning away.

Tom's expression seemed to soften, in that fake way, as the other reached over, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

He jerked it away.

"Even if I don't hate you for being Voldemort, doesn't mean I like you," Harry said, quietly. "Why are you doing this? I know you're not desperate for my approval or anything."

"As I said, I dislike limitations."

"There's more than that."  
He just wanted to stop arguing for once, to have some reprieve. He wanted to go flying, there were Quidditch Tryouts soon. Whilst he had no desire to play for the Slytherin team, he sincerely missed his broom and the game.

Riddle was silent for a long while, to the point Harry was convinced he wasn't going to answer at all.

"Do you want me to judge you for being the boy who lived?"

Harry turned again, slowly, at that. He couldn't say he wanted that. Anonymity had been the only solace he found here, the freedom without pressure and just his own actions to define him.

_Oh._

"Then perhaps you should allow me the same courtesy," Tom finished, walking out.

Quidditch Tryouts couldn't come sooner.

* * *

It was clear that Evans was a rather great threat in the future, and Tom received an inordinate amount of pleasure with toying with him, his morals and emotions and expectations.

It was interesting though. Harry knew too much of him to lie so blatantly, he had to carefully select his truths and offer them over to get anything of true value and substance in return. He needed to lure Harry closer.

After all, if he could convert the Boy who Lived to the Dark Side, it would be a massive achievement, and knowledge - no matter the timeline - was power and Harry knew too much to be easily disregarded.

If he couldn't force Harry into telling him more, or trick or con him, perhaps he should try the method of gaining his trust. That required a far more careful game, but he relished the challenge.

Maybe he even liked the thought that someone would, at least a little, understand him.  
Harry understood more than most, even if he was blinded to certain facts.

But he was certain he'd given the boy something to mull over.

* * *

_A/N: More of a turning point chapter. Bit short. Oh well. It's a chapter. Next up, whenever next happens, is Quidditch Tryouts._

_In case you hadn't noticed, I'm horribly blocked on SIS. I know what will happen next chapter, just...blah._

Anyway, hope you enjoyed!


	27. Chapter 25 and AN

Chapter 25:

Quidditch Tryouts dawned on a crisp wintery morning. It was the beginning of December now, with Christmas tearing closer every second.

Harry sort of dreaded it - Christmas. He had no one here to really celebrate it with, and certainly none of the people who he really wanted to celebrate with.

He clutched his wand tightly in his hand. He was going to see Roger later, now that the boy was finally out of the Hospital Wing and ready to see people again. He only hoped it went well, even though he couldn't possibly see how it would when the guilt writhed in his stomach like worms.

It was his fault. Tom's fault. His fault for baiting Tom so much.

He wanted to fight, and he had no intentions of surrender, but it terrified him that every time he fought back Tom inevitably took it out on someone.

He was absolutely fine confronting pain for himself, but he didn't much like the thought of inadvertently inflicting it on other people.

It was better for everyone if Riddle's regime was destroyed, and he was past caring about what it would take to do it.

Dumbledore and Dippet still hadn't found a way for him to get back - Time Turners hadn't even been bloody invented, and they weren't going to invest too much time on one errant traveller when they had a war to fight.

He suspected the only reason they were even bothering, and not just disposing of the possible threat he caused - at least in accordance to the Ministry - was because it was in their benefit that if they figured out the secrets of time travel they had an advantage in the current war.

He kicked off the ground.

He hadn't realized how much he missed flying, even on a broom that was painfully slower and less advanced than his firebolt, until he was in the air again.

It was...fortifying, the wind in his hair, the troubles and struggles of time travel and Tom bloody Riddle shrinking away into a speck on the ground that didn't matter.

This was where he belonged, even in 1942.

He felt free. The wind whipped through his hair, as he soar through the air, and, for the moments before the snitch was released, he just had fun.

With the Triwizard Tournament, and getting sent to the past, he couldn't even remember the last time he just enjoyed himself without any underlying motive or manipulation.

That was pretty sad actually.

It was only once he stopped that he realized everyone on the ground was staring at him.

The Slytherins had been rather skeptical of his involvement, he felt a little smug by how wide-eyed they were now.

The Captain of the team was a sixth year called Crockett. Harry hadn't had many dealings with him; he was a burly boy, and whilst very enthusiastic about Quidditch in a way that reminded Harry of Oliver Wood, he seemed like a shadow captain sometimes to the domineering Walburga Black - Sirius' mother - who was in the year above, and played as a Chaser.

She was the only female on the Quidditch Team, as Harry was led to believe in this time that they were rather more strict about such things and the 'proper' place of a woman.

Hermione would have thrown a fit. So would Angelina, Katie and Alicia for that matter.

Crockett was smitten with the Lady Black. Harry disliked her on principle and made no effort to talk to her, remembering she'd disowned Sirius, and generally been horrible.

He would have avoided them all if he could, especially Riddle, but the bastard was persistent.

Crockett was a beater, along with Alphard. Rosier and Abraxas were the other two chasers.

Their seeker had just graduated the year before, which was bloody convenient really, and the keeper too. So they were looking for a seeker and a keeper.

He knew Mulciber and Lestrange were both desperate for the keeper position, and Nott was also trying out for seeker.

"Okay," Crockett said, when he was on his broom. "Welcome to Quidditch Tryouts. We hold a winning streak against the other houses which we don't intend to lose. You better be bloody good, because the rest of us have no intention of carrying your weight. We will do the keeper trials first - go over there. Whoever defends the most hoops wins."

Harry soared above, ignoring the looks Nott was giving him, and almost hoping the other would try and knock him off his broom because he was itching to retaliate.

There was a familiarity however, in Quidditch Trials, that despite the green and silver was starting to slowly settle him, giving him roots and calm the mess his emotions had been since he got here.

Things like this were important, now, up in the air, he could see how alarmingly immersed he'd got in Riddle's world and game, even if he'd been acting in defiance.

There was just something about the other that suckered him in, frustrated him and clawed under his skin until it was difficult to find perspective on the whole situation.

It was maddening.

He was starting to see where people were coming from with the intense thing, but it didn't make him any happier about it.

In the end, Lestrange saved all of his five goals, and so did Mulciber, so it went to a trial of whoever let the quaffle in first.

Mulciber lost. Lestrange became keeper; Harry started wondering if this was really a good idea because as much as he sincerely loved flying it would mean spending more time with the baby Death Eaters.

Then again...it was time with the followers without Riddle's presence, and so could provide him with an invaluable way in for sabotage.

He still firmly believed he'd find his way home - he had to - and he was loath to change the past significantly still out of fear. Otherwise he was pretty sure he would have tried to kill Riddle for real. Sure, maybe he wasn't Voldemort, he could see that, and he couldn't hate the boy for the despicable things he would grow up to do - but he could hate him for Roger, and for generally being a manipulative bastard.

Then it was time for the seekers.

The snitch was released and they had to wait ten seconds for it to disappear. Then it was time to get it whilst the beaters took turns hitting bludgers in their direction.

His heart raced in his chest as he scoured the sky for that hint of gold. It took a minute, but he caught it - it was charmed to stay in the arena for tryouts, so it wouldn't take too long, then he was tearing through the air after the snitch. Nott was soon quick on his heels, neck and neck.

Nott had the advantage of being used to such old brooms, whilst Harry was used to his Nimbus and his Firebolt, which had always been top of the range.

He was currently on an Cleansweep Five, whilst Nott was on a Comet 180.

It was a joke against the Firebolt, honestly, but at least he was up in the air.

They tore around the stadium after the golden orb, dipping and swirling, up and down before the snitch took a sudden dive towards the ground.

That was an exhilarating familiarity too, and despite the older broom Harry didn't hesitate to follow.

He may have been inexperienced and losing at Slytherin Politics and games, but he was still bloody good at flying. Despite the age of the broom, handling it came naturally to him, even if the firebolt had only required the smallest of touches to guide it.

He pressed in close against the wood, eyes fixed on the snitch, forgetting Nott and everyone else, with the rush of the wind in his ears and the broomstick between his hands and the ground racing towards him.

He had no awareness of Nott anymore, just of his hand reaching out to grasp around the snitch like it was the most important thing and catching it would rewind all the crap that had happened and bring him home, he would wake up to find this was all some long, fevered nightmare or delusion brought on by the Dementors, not real.

He drew sharply level with the ground, then up again sharply, leaning forward, pushing harder - yes! His fingers tightened around his fluttering prize and he came to a stop in the air, looking down.

Nott was on the floor, his broomstick bent in two beneath him with a bloody nose, and people swarming around him, staring up, including Riddle, as the rest of the players flew in closer to him.

"So," Harry said, after a moment, with an innocent smile. "Did I make the team?"

* * *

Considering they were people of magic, Roger would have assumed that there would be some easy fix for an exploding potion and a damaged leg.

It seemed there wasn't, and he'd never felt more disappointed and disenchanted in his life. There was a bad taste in his mouth, as he stared down at his wheelchair, wondering how the hell he was supposed to navigate the winding staircases of Hogwarts in this thing?

He could no longer play Quidditch, and he was absolutely terrified of the pity he would face.  
He found himself hating Harrison Evans, even if he understood it wasn't the other boy's fault.

They said he wouldn't walk again, and he couldn't feel his legs or move them so it was probably true. He was told he was lucky that the potion hadn't severed his spine higher up, and that he hadn't died, but sometimes he selfishly thought death may have been easier.

He was being pathetic, he knew - this didn't mean the end of his life, definitely not. He could still see and feel and hear and go to the movies and cast magic.

But he also couldn't help but feel the doubts and insecurities bubbling in his chest.

The chair was only temporary, thank god. They intended to make him a new pair of wooden or metal prosthetic leg. He just had to get used to walking around on them, and taking them off and putting them on. He swallowed, thickly.

He'd always intended to be a healer, so he tried to tell himself that this was just a better motivation for that - that he would become the best healer ever, and find a way to better treat such things as exploding potions and mangled legs.

Surely, with magic, he should be able to do anything?  
He'd never get his own legs back, and it still hurt to breathe, but at least he could make it better for other people.

The current limbs were a muggle invention, invented by a Doctor Vanghetti in 1898 and advanced now by magic, but it was still stiff and didn't work quite as well. It certainly looked more like something a pirate would wear.

But it allowed him mobility, and a sense of normality, though he would have to do a lot of physiotherapy.

He looked up as he heard a tentative knock on the door.  
Harry.

That just brought more questions, considering the conversation he'd heard.

It had taken him a while to pick it out through the pain and the haze of his accident as reality and nothing else, but now he was certain of what he'd heard.

He knew Harry had saved his life, begged for it, and at least when it came to Tom Riddle, such a thing seemed a very rare thing.

"Can I come in?" the other boy asked, still in Quidditch Robes, face a little pale, eyes screaming guilt so loudly that he wanted to turn away from it.

He also remembered that Riddle had called Harry 'Potter'.

"Yes. I think we need to talk."  
He carefully wheeled himself away from the window, to face the other, and Harry stood in front of him, fiddling with his shirt sleeves for a moment before squaring his shoulders.

"Roger, I cannot even begin to say how sorry I am," Harry's voice was a little hoarse, and he ran a hand through his hair shakily. "This is all my fault-"

"Well, yours and Riddle's. He's the one that caused the damn explosion, even if you somehow annoyed him enough for him to seek vengeance by assumedly firing a memory charm at him.."

Harry swallowed, thickly.

"If there's anything I can ever do..."  
They were weak words, inadequate, and they both knew that, but the sentiment expressed was sincere. Harry was trying. He wasn't quite sure he was in the mood to accommodate right now.

"The thing is," he interrupted, staring at Harrison, hard. "Is that I am very, very curious about what you would be so desperate to make him forget. He called you Potter. I heard. Explain."

Harry shifted on his feet.  
"It's complicated..." the boy hedged, and he wanted to punch the other for it.

"You fucking well owe me an explanation!" he nearly screamed the words, and Harry looked startled. Maybe he startled himself a little too, as he panted in the chair, so different from previous mildness.

Harry swallowed once more, nodded jerkily.  
"Yes, yes I do," the Slytherin agreed, drawing his wand. Roger stiffened, and he saw a flash of hurt go through the other's eyes, before he smoothly continued and cast up privacy wards.

"You-you said you were from the future," he murmured. "Is that true?"  
He'd thought a lot about that, if it was possible, where Harry could be from, toting up the evidence for and against in an almost obsessive manner.

"Yes, it's true."

"And you're a Potter." He may not have been a Ravenclaw like Im, but that didn't mean he wasn't stupid and couldn't put two and two together or was an idiot.

"Yes."

"Are you Leonard's - Charlus' - son?"

"Grandson," Harry supplied, after a moment. "At least I think."

"You don't know?"

"I wasn't lying that my parents were killed by a Dark Wizard, just about when it was and which Dark Lord it was."

"There's another one outside of Grindelwald!?" Roger yelped, and Harry swore, rubbing his eyes. Roger studied him carefully, mind racing. "It's Riddle."

"What? What makes you-?"

"The way you behave with him. The fact he crippled me just to get back at you. You hate him far too much, and I always thought there had to be history between you two." His voice was quiet, his head rolling.

"You can't tell anyone," Harry said, firmly. He glanced up at that, expression hard.

"Why not?" he demanded. "Why haven't you killed Riddle yet?"

Harry let out a deep, exhausted sigh, and for the first time Roger thought he might have seen something real - tiredness, black smudged eyes, something broken and ugly that was trying to keep itself together and was in no place to be fighting anything.

"In the simplest explanation, I don't want to wreck the timeline."

"Wouldn't it make a better timeline?" he asked.

Harry shrugged, helplessly.  
"I don't know. I don't know what to do - part of me thinks I should, but another part of me thinks I can't, because well, if he hadn't grown up to kill my parents, I wouldn't exist and so it would create a paradox as I never would have been here to kill him in the first place."

Well, that made an awful amount of sense.

"Must be frustrating."

"You have no idea."

"So basically he can do whatever he wants, but you're trapped with knowledge and can't kill him, but he can kill you without it affecting the timeline, or maim you, or anything like that. What he does to you, so long as it doesn't cause public scandal and only involves you, has no effect on the timeline."

"I guess," Harry muttered,eyes pinched. "Isn't it just wonderful being us?"

"And Riddle knows you're from the future?"

"Halloween. He drugged me and forced truth serum down my throat."

"Bloody hell." Roger's eyes widened, and, just for a second, the chair was forgotten, as were the limbs.

They talked for a while more, quietly, and he could almost see the relief in Harry's shoulders. It must have been difficult only having his worst enemy knowing.

Of course, Harry didn't tell him much, or probably really anything of importance, he couldn't, but...well, he no longer felt a burning hatred bubbling in his chest, though he couldn't say he was fond of the boy either anymore, or that they could ever be so close friends without some lingering bitterness.

Harry left several hours later.  
And he had work to catch up on.

* * *

_A/N: Felt it was getting too long, so I cut out the confrontation with Tom._

**_Note, I am now going on HIATUS, with all of my stories, or at least a semi hiatus. I just figured it was rude to do an A/N chapter again, and I didn't fancy the flames for it. I may still be around, but I'm going to work on my novel and my screenplay for a while. Fanfiction was always supposed to be something I did just for fun, and, recently, it's just not been that. Too much pressure, and negative reviews and PMs on every single update I've made for a while now has a draining effect, I guess because apparently I don't update enough and my characterization is off among other things and I'm not even going to go into it. Point is, it's getting stressful and more like a chore than what was supposed to be my fun hobby because I love writing and Harry Potter and I can make myself feel crap already without other people doing it too and frankly feeling crap kills my ability to write well, which some of you have picked up on in your comments. Most of you are still wonderful, so I'm sorry to you guys, and I'll still be around occasionally. Might even make a different account and start afresh though that sucks considering the work I put into this one, but anyway. I hope this isn't coming out as a whiny rant, just thought I should give you a head's up before disappearing and explain my decision._**


	28. Chapter 26

Chapter 26:

It had been another week, and the Christmas holidays were fast drawing near.

Harry now had Quidditch Practise with the rest of the Slytherins, and they suddenly seemed to like him a lot more now that he had the potential to win the Quidditch Cup for them.

Harry didn't really know what to think of them in turn. He knew they became horrible people in the future, and did awful things, but when he saw them in their pajamas or caught them goofing off just like any other student, he couldn't help but be reminded that they were oblivious to the actions of their future selves. They hadn't done anything.

Whilst they may not have been innocents...he couldn't attribute them as Death Eaters and automatically evil either. It messed with his head.

How could he spend time with them, knowing what they'd become? Without smudging some semblance of culpability on himself in turn?

Tom Riddle remained a different matter entirely.

If the other was trying to convince him of some semblance of good intentions, he was utterly failing. Maybe Riddle was just reveling in not having to play his model student act and thus made a note of acting like more of a bastard than normal around him. Or just acting like he would without a nuclear bunker of different facades and faces layered over his skin.

He wouldn't say the Slytherin Heir was without pretence in their interactions, but there was certainly something more genuine involved. Playing with the man not the mask.

Not that he had any mood for games after what had happened to Roger, but there was nothing to be done about that because barring the obliviate incident - and he still didn't know what exactly had riled the other up so much about that, or how he wasn't mind wiped - Riddle seemed to much prefer him 'participating' than plain ignoring him.

Still, Harry had gone quieter, channeling his energies more into improving his duelling skills and trying to find a way home, then making jabs at the young Dark Lord. Even if, ironically, making jabs at Riddle was one of the only sure-fire ways of venting his frustrations at being stuck here he still had.

He wouldn't say he enjoyed their duels, but there was something satisfying about being able to lash out so openly in a manner he was used to, rather than being trapped in political games he was only just starting to get used to.

It felt even better when Riddle gradually stopped beating him so easily, as Harry began playing to his own strengths, instead of just trying to defeat the other in his own field and excel in Dark Arts alone. The other had years of experience and tendency on that matter, he could never win there.

Maybe that had been the problem there all along, with confusion and tearing emotions and the fact Riddle always sickeningly seemed to have the disadvantage - quite simply, because he did. Future knowledge meant next to nothing when he was playing with politics and webs he'd never even dabbled with before, and Dark Arts that were well known for being the domain of the enemy. Knowledge was nothing if he couldn't use it, without simultaneously losing for the attack.

So he started using Light Arts too - Light Arts and Parseltongue to even them out.  
Riddle's face had been priceless the first time, before a certain hungry gleam entered his eye that made Harry think he'd not actually emerged victorious at all.

Though that could be the fact that Riddle tended to pull off acting like he had the upper hand, even when he didn't, so it was hard to really tell what he was really thinking unless one could crawl into the bastard's head.

The fact was that Harry was also 'playing' on a constant state of sleep deprivation, so all things considered he didn't actually think he was doing too badly. It just didn't feel like he was doing well, and it was frustrating.

How was he expected to be equal when the odds were so firmly stacked against him? How could he possibly beat Voldemort when the teenaged version could make him feel so very lost?

Roger had been a great help too, in his own way. At least in the short periods he could actually stand to see him between his physiotherapy. It was...relieving to have someone who knew, outside of Tom. He'd relaxed into something far more genuine, if stuff due to the resentments between them, around Roger.

Not that either of Im or Roger wanted to spend time with him anymore. It seemed even Hufflepuff loyalty only went so far. He couldn't blame the other for it though. Roger had even warned him, at the start, not to drag him into a mess with Riddle. And he'd inadvertently done so anyway.

And he had no desire to do so to anyone else, so it was a vicious circle of him spending increasing time with the Slytherins because he didn't care about them, at least not so much.

Maybe that was what Riddle had intended.

But he was also working on his plan, on his wriggling in - he'd somewhat given up being a lackey to Tom, because it was screamingly obvious to everyone that he couldn't do it and couldn't align himself in with the Death Eaters inner circle however hard he tried. Surprisingly, that didn't seem to stop them, or Tom, talking to him. Mulciber had eyed him up a few days before, and pensively asked what made him different, as he packed his belongings for the holidays.

Either way, he'd decided that though overt power lay with Riddle, he would target the masses instead. Those that the inner circle ignored, the foundations and corners of the web instead of daggering a hole in the middle. He knew, first hand, the power a group could have against one man.

Harry was panting on the floor of the Room of Requirement currently, having just finished another duel. It was difficult to say which one of them had won, considering they both had a fair few wounds they were currently tending to.

If he could feel Riddle's eyes on him, he ignored it. The Slytherin always lunged on these moments of exhaustion after to try and talk - or as Harry viewed the little chats, manipulations.

He also refused to acknowledge that being contrasted with the other's rather formidable intelligence as a counter to his own studies, a rivalry, was doing wonders for his ability to learn magic and his grades.

The git was just so insufferable when he won at anything! Harry couldn't help it. It had a way of motivating it which Hermione's attempts had never quite managed to match.

He wasn't arrogant enough to assume that intellectually he was on the same level as the other boy. He wasn't. Tom could start talking a million miles a minute on various things and advanced magic theories as he blinked and pretended he was keeping up.

But Harry also didn't consider himself stupid, and when Riddle actually slowed down and put whatever he was rambling about away from all the fancy jargon, with some practical examples...he found he actually did understand.

It was strange. On one part it galled him that Tom had obviously noted the way he hadn't originally had a clue what the bastard was talking about when he started showing off or trying to illustrate one of his various manipulative points...on the other actually was taking the time to catch him up and put it into a way he could understand.

God, why couldn't the man become an incredibly bastard teacher instead of a Dark Lord? That would make this all so much easier.

Still, normally, after these sessions, he just limped out and tried to ignore the fact they unfortunately shared a dorm too.

His shirt had managed to get soaked in blood by a particularly nasty cutting curse on Tom's side of the spectrum, which banished any delusion that Riddle was going easy on him for the sake of his supposed dark arts teaching.

If he hadn't spent an inordinate amount of time researching counter curses after one of the first times, he would have probably been holding his guts in place at that second.

His consolation prize was the fact Riddle didn't look all that much better.  
So far, they hadn't managed to put each other in a coma again, which was just as well, because if either of them had such a victory he suspected the loser would most likely be left to die for the weakness.

He could hardly picture Riddle dragging his bleeding form to the hospital wing, after all.

He peeled his bloodied, tattered shirt off with a slight grimace, to get better at the wound - glancing up, irritated, when he could still feel the other's eyes on.

"Clearly I didn't mess your face up anywhere near enough if you still have time to stare at me," he growled, to where Riddle was holding a handkerchief to his recently healed nose.

"Where are they from?" the young Dark Lord asked quietly, instead of responding, with a gesture in his direction. Harry blinked, glanced down, stiffened.

The Dursleys hadn't given him many wounds, they were more the type to just ignore him, but run in's with Dudley had certainly taken some toll over the years and there had been those times after a few too many drinks coinciding with some magical happenstance. There was hardly an obscene amount, and he'd always healed fast, but it was impossible for there not to be any at all.

"You're not really getting the hang of this 'none of your business' thing, are you?" he snapped, healing the wound with a muttered spell, balling his shirt in front of himself defensively.

Tom's head tilted.

"You know, I've never seen you undressed."

Harry spluttered.

"Now I know why most of your little entourage is male," he said. "Is this a regular thing for you?"

Riddle blinked, before laughing. It was a laugh that rose hairs on the back of his neck, more than being warm and honest, but there was something there.

"Yes, darling. The plan behind all of this is actually to get you in my bed and ruin you."

"So there's a plan?" Harry raised his brows, disregarding the previous statement pointedly, heat on the back of his neck and a glare in his eyes. Riddle merely offered him his favoured shark-smile.

"Hmm, not protesting to the idea? I always said you wanted to fall for the Dark side."

"Oh, I see no point protesting things that are never, ever going to happen," Harry returned., eyes still narrowed. "You're up to something, world domination most likely, but it's not that."

The smirk only broadened, before vanishing entirely, replaced by something Harry had never seen on Tom's face before, though he couldn't place the emotion exactly.

"Well, my initial comment was more to do with the fact that when one shares a dorm, one normally sees their roommates in varying degrees of undress, whether they want to or not. You hide behind your curtains if we're awake, or emerge from the shower already dressed." Riddle's gaze raked over his scars again. "I'd ask if I gave you those, but they're too old for that. They've shrunk and distorted with your skin as you grew up. Interesting, no?" the other's voice was far too soft.

"Not really," Harry said, blandly, standing up.

"And obviously you didn't grow up with your parents." Riddle stood too, stepping nonchalantly into his path. Harry wetted his lips, chin jutting up slightly, folding his arms.

"Obviously."

"And you're muggle raised. Easy enough to see the tells, you don't know enough about the ins and outs of magical society in enough depth, nor do you have the arrogance to have been reared in fame. Hence, muggle. You're a halfblood, by your own admission, and so presumably your mother was muggleborn. Relatives there, perhaps?"

"Why does this matter?"

"I just find it interesting that a small child would grow up with that many scars."

"I was a careless child."

"Somehow I doubt that."  
There was still that flicker of something in Tom's eyes, and somehow it made him even more uncomfortable than any overt hatred or signs of Voldemort could ever have done for some strange reason.

He dropped his gaze, sidestepped, expecting the hand to clamp down on his arm and expertly dodging it. He figured he probably shouldn't have done it when Riddle just spun and slammed him firmly against the wall instead.

He was getting far too used to that. Riddle had a tendency to do it when Harry ended the conversation.  
Maybe if he wasn't dealing with the teenage Dark Lord, he would have found it sweet that the other apparently was so desperate to keep lines of communication open.

Didn't stop it being bloody annoying - and painful in his currently sore state. Harry's eyes narrowed.

"What the hell is it to you that's got you so worked up?" he bit out. "What, were you expecting me to have some golden childhood where I was spoilt rotten?"

"I wasn't expecting you to be abused."

"I wasn't abused-" Harry began, face flushing a little at the thought.

"Right, yes," Tom snarled, suddenly far more ferocious, eyes burning. "It is normal for a teenager to be so thin and small as you, and to have that many scars. You were just an irritating child. You deserved every bit of it."

Harry's mouth soured, and Riddle's eyebrows demanded, grip only tightening.

Harry's stomach churned with unease, not liking the turn this conversation had taken. Wondered why Tom was so bothered by it, when he had seemed indifferent or amused to any of the countless murders and suffering he had caused in the future.

All of a sudden his mouth ran dry, and staring at Riddle, it just...clicked. A rather nasty smile spread across his face, even as his heart hammered.

Tom Riddle was an orphan too.

"What's the matter?" he questioned, oh so softly. "Is Lord Voldemort horrified to have condemned another to the same childhood that he had?"

Tom's face twisted, fingers flexing violently against his shoulders but staying so still after his initial surge of movement, as if his strings had been abruptly cut, and Harry's breath stuttered at the almost raw expression to the other's face. He swallowed, thickly, wetting his lips. Riddle seemed to have completely frozen, and for all the roughness of his grip, Harry was suddenly certain he could easily shove the other away without him doing anything.

Maybe, it was for precisely for that knowledge, that he didn't. Maybe it was for that stupid, lost expression on Tom's face and how he was sure it wasn't fake or showed for the purpose of manipulation this time.

Whilst he'd been thinking for a while now that maybe Tom Riddle was Voldemort, but Voldemort wasn't Tom Riddle and there was so much more to Riddle than the monster he'd become...he'd never really seen anything to hint at redemption. That the boy had any inclination to stop on the path he was hurtling down.

But looking at him now...he looked more human than Harry had ever seen. Just another fifteen, sixteen year as uncertain about his life and future as Harry himself was.

Maybe, just maybe, he'd spent so much time trying to save other people, because he hadn't been able to save his parents or himself, that it had become an instinct along the way, and it no longer mattered who he was trying to save.

Harry gently detached Tom's fingers from his shoulders.

"Come on," he murmured, dropping his gaze, "your lackeys will be wondering where their master's got to."

For once, the Slytherin Heir followed silently.

* * *

_A/N: I can't bloody well believe I've updated this before Solace in Shadows. I really want to update Solace, but I am so unbelievably stuck. Everything I want is in the future or near future, not the next chapter. It's driving me nuts! Regarding Past's Player, I hope you enjoyed the update, though don't expect PP updates to become regular or anything. This story isn't abandoned, a lot of you have been asking, but it's so not my priority either. If i have a sudden burst of yay or inspiration for it, then sure I'll post, or, like in this case, I have most of a chapter written and so see no reason not to finish it and give it to you. I'm rambling. That, and I'm busy with my uni stuff too, especially more coming up as my first week is drawing to a close._

_But yes, here you go, feedback is as always loved :)_

_PS: If you're bored, check out "Butterfly Heart" (part 1 now complete) and "Love's Loathing" ;)_


End file.
